Tempora Mutantur
by selenoliber
Summary: An age old battle. A transcendence of time. A duel of intellect, power, and lust. Who will win this game of chance? Or better yet, who can leave this intrincate dance of danger unscathed? TRHG. Winner at Enchanted Grangers.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** this story does not belong to me.

**Author's notes:** this is a re-post and the first chapter is a combination of chapters 1 and 2. Some of you may wonder why this stroy was taken off in the first place. well...the only explanation i have to offer involves a very young, naive, and pesky little sibling...

* * *

**Tempora Mutantur**

She fell. The sound of splashing water and mud lost amongst the clatter and cacophony of the battlefield.

It was madness, it was death; it was a losing battle.

Everyone knew it.

There would be no sunrise, no light to mark the dawning of a new day, not for her, at least.

Hermione Granger looked to her right at the tuft of red hair covered in grime and blood. Its owner had died not long after the battle had begun. Just beyond the field, she could make out the crumpled corpse of Harry Potter, defeated at last by the Dark Lord, the memory still fresh as his body gave out under the killing curse, back arching gracefully, even as he fell.

The screams were beginning to die down now, as the last remaining members of the Order could suffer no more of the curses being thrown their way. The wall of human shields slowly collapsing, making entry for the Death Eaters to sweep through the battlefront.

Hermione clutched tightly at the small first- year girl in her arms, as she struggled to rise and seek shelter within the familiar walls of the school. It was only a matter of time now. Only a matter of time before the grounds of Hogwarts was infiltrated.

Ironic, that this should be the place where it would all end. That a place of so many happy memories should soon be her grave.

Behind her, sparks of green light shoot off into the distance like fireworks.

_It won't be long now_, Hermione tells herself.

Practically dragging the first- year, she runs towards the double doors. All the first- years are secured safely within the school, but not for long. When the Death Eaters come within the walls of Hogwarts, it would be nothing short of a slaughter. Someone had to ensure these children would be given a fighting chance.

Even if there was no other way out of this thing alive, except surrender.

But she was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors never surrender. She owed it to the memories of her friends and family to carry out their dying wishes. Even if no hope was to be had. Even if they were fighting against impossible odds.

Hermione forced herself to remember that they had fought against impossible odds before and won. _Ah_, _but you're all alone now. There is no one else left. They are all gone._

Another flash of green lightning. Another wave of screams.

It was only a matter of time.

She runs up the steps and throws open the doors, dropping the girl in her arms only long enough to yell out orders for immediate evacuation.

The first years stand confused. They do not yet know that Harry Potter, their saviour, is dead. They think she has gone mad.

And maybe she has. She can almost hear the footsteps of the approaching Death Eaters. Frantically, she screams at the first –years to run, scatter, do anything but stand there looking at her with that wretched hope in their eyes.

They were doomed. They were all doomed.

In her mind, she could make out the ticking of a clock. Tick. Footsteps in the mud can be heard approaching the school. They have broken through the front. Tock. Crash. The walls shudder as a blast of curses collides with those old protection spells cast upon Hogwarts long ago.

Tick. Another shudder. Tock. Bang. Hermione looks to the double doors, charmed and bolted. Their last resistance. The first- years are frantic now. Running in every direction, understanding their situation at last.

Tick. The door splinters but manages to hold.

Hermione finds that her heart is racing, even if she knows the inevitable outcome. Even if she is prepared to face death. Tick. She pulls out her wand. Tock. She will go down like the rest of them, she tells herself, proud and courageous, worthy of the title of Gryffindor.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Tick.

Tock.

_It was only a matter of time, really_, _she repeated to herself._

_Only a matter of time…only a matter of- _

And then it hit her. They could still win.


	2. From One Nightmare into Another

Why hadn't she thought of it before? _It was so obvious!_ Hermione raced through the halls. The Death Eaters would be soon on her heels. In the corridors, some of the first- years were still scattering. She wanted to help them but there was no _time_. If she was right, they would all be saved.

If she was right.

How long had it been? Three, four years? She had no idea where McGonagall would have placed it.

It was valuable, that much was certain. And rare. But would it still be there?

Hermione was sure that McGonagall would have simply given it back, especially after so long. It was Ministry protocol after all. But still. Hadn't she seen her professor stow it away secretly in her office drawer after she thought Hermione had left the room?

The hope remained. Hope.

Funny, how it could spark back up again so easily, when Ron and Harry were both dead. She almost felt guilty, but now was not the occasion for guilt or mourning. She had to get to McGonagall's office.

A crash and the start of shrill screams behind her marked the entry of the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. But even her would- be murderers had become secondary.

There was only McGonagall's office. She needed _it_.

Memories of red hair. Memories of them falling. Memories of tears, death and despair. No. She wouldn't let it happen. She wouldn't _allow _it.

The small office was just off the corner of the right wing. Hermione sped into the room without a second thought and slammed the door shut behind her, muttering a reinforcement spell. It would buy her some time.

She turned around and began searching. _It_ had to be here.

It just had to be.

Opening cupboard after cupboard, drawer after drawer, she scrambled about looking for a glint of gold.

Nothing.

Panic was starting to override again. She didn't want to die. Try as she might to be the courageous Gryffindor, there was still the nagging voice from within. _I don't' want to die. I'm not Harry. I'm not brave like him. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't-_

A rattle on the doorknob. They were here.

The Death Eaters had finally caught up to her.

She whips around to sift through the drawers again, rummaging through the papers. Her only hope of survival in-

And then she sees it.

At the very bottom of the drawer, a glimmer of a thread- thin chain made from the finest gold, the chain the only indicator of the object hidden within its secret compartment.

Hermione breathes out a sigh of relief, not realizing that she had been holding her breath all this time. _McGonagall had kept it_. She reaches in and grabs the object, just as the door to the office breaks open and hangs upon its hinges, undone.

Through the dust and fumes, after-effects of the spell, she hears the one word which makes her blood run cold.

"Mudblood".

The word is spat at her, like a disease, as five or six Death Eaters file into the room, their wands pointed at her heart, their faces sneering and triumphant. The skull white masks have been discarded, so that she can clearly see her assailants.

There is no longer a need for them to hide their identities; the paradigm has shifted and _she_ is now the criminal of this new society.

"It's over. You've lost. Now accept death like a good, little girl." The words are mocking and dripping with sarcasm. They are taunting her, daring her to say otherwise, daring her to deny reality.

"No. I haven't lost." The words come out without a thought, strong and confident, even as she feels crippled and smothered inside.

Laughter from the Death Eaters, cold and harsh, ring out throughout the room. Hermione fingers the object in her hand and begins to turn the dial. She looks up defiantly and meets the eyes of Lucius Malfoy, who looks at her hungrily, a wolf ready to pounce. Turning and turning.

"Do you really think that you can win against all of us? That you can win against the Dark Lord, now that your _precious_ Potter is dead? Give up and beg for your life, and _maybe_ we'll make it a quick death."

More laughter, the high screech of Bellatrix punctuated over the din. Turning.

"One would think that death would be welcoming, my dear. You'd meet that weasel of a blood traitor again after all. He was truly pathetic, so weak he died minutes after the battle had begun." Turn.

_Two more turns. Just two more. _

"Be glad you'll join him in the afterlife. This isn't your world anymore, Mudblood. You've had it for long enough. It's our turn now."

_One more turn. _The Death Eaters come towards her as one, the smirks on their faces slowly morphing into deadly grins.

"Your time is over".

_Now_. In one swift movement, Hermione throws the chain over her head. She stares straight into the grey eyes of the Malfoy and returns his smile.

"No, it's just begun. My _time_ has just begun."

She can hear the ticking of the clock again; the epiphany which had saved her, maybe even her friends and family.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Faster and faster, until it matches the beating of her heart.

The room is spinning now, the familiar feel of dizziness slowly confusing the senses as the scene around her begins to melt away, becoming a swirl of colours.

The grin on Lucius Malfoy's face has contorted into a snarl. The Death Eaters are reaching out for her, trying to grab at her hair, her robes, anything; their eyes wide as the realization dawns upon them. They had been outsmarted.

_Yes, Hermione thought. I'll fix everything. _

She knows it is forbidden, Dumbledore had told her so in their third year. Her own mind is whispering for her to stop. _You know this is wrong. You can't do this. You won't come out of this unscathed. _She knows that there will be consequences, but all she can think of is the graceful arch of a falling body, and red hair.

_Ron, I won't let them take you away from me. I'll do anything to see you again. _

_Yes, Hermione thought. Anything. She looks down at the Time Turner fastened around her neck. I'll remould time itself if I have to._

_Anything. For you..._

* * *

...The spinning stopped. 

The Death Eaters were gone.

She had escaped, and yet the guilt was gnawing at her again. Her mind had become her enemy, her conscience her executioner.

_You shouldn't have left. You should have stayed and fought_. _Where is your_ _Gryffindor pride? Why is your honour? Where is your loyalt-_

No. She couldn't think like that. Not now. It wouldn't accomplish anything. The mission. That was all that was important. Think only about the mission.

It wasn't working. All the stress and emotional blows had worn down her nerves. She could feel the onslaught of tears, the raging storm of emotions roaring, demanding release…this couldn't happen right now. It was not the time or place. The mission. Think about the mission.

Refusing to lose control, Hermione retreated mentally into the corner of her mind she found most welcoming.

_The twelve uses of dragon blood are…_

She took in her surroundings. The room was littered with small intricate contraptions of all sizes and colours.

_The Goblin rebellion of 1815… took place… in Germany due to the inflation costs of the galleon… which propelled the need for…_

She feels calmer now, turning to see the nearest contraption, a delicate silver machine with dozens of knobs and pulleys, a small chute on the side blowing out a steady stream of hot steam at what looked to be a red and brown egg. Whoever owned this room had _very_ strange tastes.

_The five most common habitats of elves…_

She tiptoes towards the door, making sure to avoid the many tiny mechanisms scattered about the floor, to search the halls for any wanderers before slipping out quietly into the hallway, keeping to the shadows as she walked. She needed was to leave Hogwarts right away.

Her mission required extensive research. She would find him and she would finish the job. Just as she had promised.

According to Harry, Voldemort had grown up in an orphanage. She had come back to this era in hopes that she could kill him as a child, before he grew up to become the Dark Lord. It was ironic really. She was doing exactly what Voldemort had done to Harry. Try to kill him while he was still defenceless. But she needed to block that fact out now. She was _nothing_ like Voldemort. Nothing.

…_twenty- two ways to effectively uproot a Venus- fly trap…_

Creeping quietly down the steps towards the exit, Hermione tucked the Time Turner safely within the collar of her robes. She was not wearing her Hogwarts uniform and there would be questions if she was found on the property, especially at this time of night, but this was her only chance to leave. The school would be busier during the day. If anyone asked, she would say she was a friend or colleague of one of the professors, even if she didn't know any of the professors in this era. Hopefully it wouldn't come down to that.

…_unicorn…sacred amongst magical creatures …protector of virgins…blood…longitivity of life…_

Striding across the entrance hall, Hermione was out the doors in no time. She let out a heavy sigh.

Safe.

_Felix Felicis…the luck potion…used to augment one's chances of success by a magical testing of- _

Oh no. Felix Felicis. The memory of Harry and the potion resurfaced. Felix. Felicis. Harry. Felix. Harry. Felicis. Harry, Harry, Harry…

_Harry Potter_…_defeated… Dark Lord… killing curse...falling…no, no, no!_

It was coming again, she couldn't hold it back. The tears. The guilt. They were building, building…no, no, not now…not now…

"Hold it right there!"

The voice made her blood run cold with the reality of being caught. How on earth was she going to explain herself? She was on the verge of tears. Oh no. She couldn't break down now. Not now.

Hermione Granger is always strong. Hermione Granger is a Gryffindor. Hermione Granger does not cry in front of others, especially not strangers. She closed her eyes, forcing composure.

_Get rid of him. Then I can leave. Get rid of him. Then I can continue the mission. Get rid of him…then I can cry, drown myself in my own misery…_

From the tone, the owner was definitely a male student, the voice not yet deep enough to be a man's.

But there was something invariably cold and detached about the voice; it carried an air of authority, as if its owner was born to lead and command…

Hermione turned, her face now a mask of detachment. _Felix Felicis…Harry…stop thinking about it!_

Sure enough, there was a figure leaning against a pillar of the entrance hall, his face and torso shadowed in darkness. Hermione caught a glint of gold reflecting off his robes from the moonlight.

A badge.

This boy was a prefect.

"Who are you?"

The voice had become stern and suspicious, its owner kicking off the pillar to stand upright. Hermione could almost feel the glare, even if she couldn't see his face.

"I had business with a professor."

"In the middle of the night? Anyway, you haven't answered my question. _Who are you?_"

"This hardly concerns a student. Be a good boy and run off to bed."

Suddenly, the entrance hall was filled with a wave of burning, scorching heat.

Hermione gasped for breath, choking under the humidity. She fell to her knees.

What was happening?

She could feel waves of heat and energy emanating off something. Her thoughts were jumbled now, unable to cohere, everything was blurry… unable to focus…her façade was fading away…the emotional turmoil within rearing its head once more. No, she had to suppress it. She couldn't break down.

Just what was going on? She could almost see the crackles of electricity flying across room, the entire entrance hall suddenly bursting with magic.

_Was this all this boy's doing? Just who was he? _

Questions were flying, her mind boggled, her control slipping away; this wasn't happening. She couldn't break down. She was a Gryffindor. She had a mission.

_From one nightmare into another. _

Hermione could vaguely make out approaching footsteps. He was coming closer, advancing on her!

"This is the last time I will ask. _Who are you?"_

He was in front of her now, looking down at her.

The heat was unbearable.

Suddenly, there was a hand on her chin, tilting her face upwards. She was staring into his face, but Hermione found that her eyes couldn't focus. The boy seemed to be kneeling now, his grip on her chin so firm it hurt.

She tried to wrench away, but found she was unable to. She was much too weak, having gone without food for days because of the battle. She knew that her physical and mental states were being shredded to tatters, and now they were coming undone, at last.

"You aren't here for a meeting with a professor. You're much too young."

That cold voice again. How could someone still manage that cold tone in such a magically charged environment! The boy was acting as if he didn't even feel it!

"Look at me. I know you're lying. I want the truth. What are you doing here? "

She had to get away from this boy right now. If he could do this, make the room like this, what else was he capable of? She had to get away. But she was too weak. Concentrating, she willed all her focus into seeing just who this mysterious boy was. She had to know who he was.

Just who on earth could have so much power?

Her eyes focused for just the briefest of moments and she managed to catch a glimpse of his face before everything became a blur again.

_Green eyes…black hair…_

_No…Felix Felicis…no…it couldn't be…_

"Harry? Harry, is that you?"

A soft chuckle. The heat was slowly dying down now and she found she could breathe again, her mind trying to piece itself back together.

_Harry. Could it really be you?_

"No, my name is Tom Riddle."

Oh no. Hermione suddenly felt sick. There had to be some mistake. Tom Riddle…at Hogwarts…no… it couldn't be. Tom Riddle was supposed to be still a child…utterly defenceless…no…how could this be? Had she made a mistake with the dial turns in her haste to escape the Death Eaters?

This couldn't be happening. A Tom Riddle fully aware of his magical potential and already using his powers to bend others to his will…to bend her…

This couldn't be happening.

_**From one nightmare into another. **_


	3. Drawing Borders

**Disclaimer:** all names you've seen before do not belong to me.

**Author's notes:** hello, yes it's a new chapter. this one hasn't been betad yet. I'm sry for the long wait. this is a long chapter b/c of that reason. It was hard to write this one chapter b/c as a writer i feel i have a duty to separate this fic from others and having honestly not read many tr/hg fics, i have to say i had no idea what i was getting into. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter. i will try my best to update asap, and again, sry for the delay.

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**Drawing Borders**

"_What are you doing here?"_

The words echoed off the walls, reverberating down the empty hall, fading into whispers of the shadows and darkness.

How could this have happened? How could she have been so careless? All it took was a few more turns of a dial and she could have prevented everything! Saved everyone! But now…

Now, everything was so complicated…

Exactly how complicated, Hermione wasn't given time to ponder, as she was thrown head-first against a wall, hitting it with such a resounding smack that made her head swim and her knees buckle.

She sank helplessly to the floor, strength escaping as prolonged hunger and stress took its toll. Tiny shards of glass and sand trailed her movements.

Nevertheless, she turned to glare defiantly at the boy standing before her, wand in hand. Defenceless or not, baby or not, she would kill him. It could even be better this way, since now she would feel less remorse in killing a teenage Riddle.

_He's a monster or at least he will become one if I don't stop him._

A red beam of light suddenly shot towards her, with Hermione scrambling out of its way, as it bounced off the wall, missing her right ear by a mere inch. She glanced back again to see Riddle with his own wand out, pointed at her heart.

He opened his mouth to say something but Hermione didn't give him a chance. With reflexes honed from the dozens of battles, she quickly dodged behind a statue of Helga Hufflepuff and shot her own Stunning spell at him, forcing her opponent to find cover behind one of the marble pillars.

"You are trespassing on Hogwarts property!"

The words were barely out of his mouth when Hermione managed to hit him with the Chokehold Curse. Riddle immediately began gasping for breath, but not before he rasped out a well- aimed curse back in her direction, effectively hitting her with his own spell.

It was a complicated hex which she threw off with some difficulty.

She looked across the hall to see that Riddle had also successfully fought off her spell, though he was now looking at her with a very peculiar glint in his eyes. The murderous glare from before had disappeared, replaced by an expression, if it was at all possible, even more dangerous and fearsome.

It was an expression that reminded her of Lucius Malfoy's face before she had escaped, one of pure hunger. But in Riddle's eyes, there was also the calculating shrewdness of Snape, an unseen potency.

His duelling skills surprised her. He was clearly a strong adversary, despite his inexperience compared to her own, and Hermione grudgingly admitted that she had underestimated him, even with her knowledge that she was fighting the future Dark Lord.

For all her battle experience, it seemed this duel would end in a stalemate, though it was hardly a fair fight, as she was running on exhaustion, starvation and, not to mention, threat of psychosis. But, no doubt Riddle was hiding his true talents and would have other powerful spells and Dark Arts knowledge in his reserve.

That would not stop her from trying. Gryffindors were known to be reckless, after all.

She was just about to aim another curse at him when—

"Tom! What in Merlin's name…what do you think you are doing?"

Both occupants of the room turned to see the entrance of a short, balding elderly wizard Hermione recognized from the Headmaster's Portraits as Armando Dippet.

Old Dippet looked from Hermione to Tom, and then back again, clearly stupefied and confused. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small curl of the lips from the boy beside her and knew.

She was in big trouble.

* * *

Darkness reigned throughout the manor, dim flickers of candlelight providing the only source of light in the small, ice-cold room. 

Softly, the door creaked open, its intruder stepping fearfully into the room, shivering from head to toe, though not from the cold. His tremulous voice spoke out, though he himself remained in the shadows of the room, choosing to remain obscure rather than suffer the wrath of the room's inhabitant.

"M-M-My Lord."

There was no response, but the man continued on, unable to stop the rush of words as they poured out in one slur.

"The g-girl, she ran from us, my lord, and-"

"You failed."

The figure in the shadow quivered, knowing what was to come.

"Yes."

"Does she know?"

"M-my lord?"

Red- slits for eyes fixed themselves towards the corner of the room with the man, narrowing dangerously.

"Does she know?"

"N-no, my lord. I do not believe so."

"You are free to go, Nott. It is not _you _who has displeased me...send Lucius to me."

"Yes, my lord."

A quick nodd, and Nott was rushing out the door, relief written in every crease of his aged visage. He didn't know what the Dark Lord could possibly want with Potter's whore but whatever it was he was not about to risk life and limb to ever pose the question to his master.

Nott walked down the hall of Riddle Manor. Now, if only he could find Malfoy...

* * *

Hermione sat in the armchair of the Headmaster's Office, glaring angrily across the table at the black-haired, green- eyed boy who reminded her too much of another certain someone with similar attributes. 

"_How could the same coloured eyes appear so warm in one person and so cold in another",_ she thought vehemently.

It really wasn't fair how the gods mocked her by replacing the image of her best friend with the image of the enemy. An enemy she would have to soon kill, nevertheless.

"_No_," Hermione huffed inwardly, "_it most definitely wasn't fair_," as Tom Riddle smiled at her charmingly and something in Hermione's chest gave an involuntary flutter that definitely wasn't nervousness for getting into trouble.

With dark wavy locks that fell effortlessly into beautiful, forest green eyes, Hermione reluctantly admitted that Tom Riddle was very handsome. He looked like a dark angel, commanding awe and admiration for his beauty, yet respect, reverence and fear for the darkness brooding within.

She now understood what Harry had meant when he had told her that Tom Riddle was found very attractive by all the girls of his time, whereas she had previously scoffed, convinced that no male could be that good-looking.

There was a shroud of mystery encompassing Riddle that enticed and beckoned. The intensity of his eyes as he gazed upon them could make any girl blush; as if he could see your inner-most thoughts and feelings with one glance.

Mentally wincing at the train of her thoughts, Hermione forced herself to think about anyone else, anything else but the boy sitting across from her, who was currently gazing at her with obvious interest and amusement, the corners of his mouth forming a smirk Hermione was quickly growing to hate.

The door opened to admit Armando Dippet as he strode back into the office with Professor Dumbledore in tow. For the first half hour after Dippet had found them, Hermione had tried to explain to the old Headmaster that she was not an evil spy sent by Grindewald with motives of springing a surprise attack upon Hogwarts.

When caught, Riddle's explanation of Hermione's presence within the school as a spy had initially made her laugh aloud for the implausibility of such an event. Until she had turned to Dippet, that is, and seen his stony and severe expression.

She had then blubbered and protested until Professor Dumbledore had come across them. Thinking quickly, she' d used Legilimency to tell this younger Dumbledore of her plight, knowing that he was her only chance, and he had charitably decided to help her by forming an alibi about her being an immediate transfer student whose parents had recently moved here from some remote part of the world for reasons they'd prefer to keep quiet.

Dumbledore had then attributed Hermione's sudden arrival with an excuse about old age and having forgotten their appointment, asked Dippet for forgiveness and to allow Hermione a placement within the school.

After being assured she was indeed not a notorious Dark wizard's spy, Dippet happily welcomed Hermione to Hogwarts with open arms. During the entire event, Tom Riddle had been present, sitting quietly in the office but listening to every word exchanged with a bemused smile.

It was obvious Headmaster Dippet trusted Riddle far more than he ought to. Even when Dumbledore had suggested Riddle go off to bed, Dippet had waved off the suggestion impatiently and allowed him stay. He even asked him to give her a tour of the school and to help her out in her classes.

Hermione almost snarled at the reminder.

The last thing she needed was to spend more time with Tom Riddle. She wanted to kill him, she needed to kill him, and spending more time with him might weaken her resolve.

"Well, Ms. Cacher, that will be all for now. Tom will show you to the Hospital Wing. I am afraid you'll have to spend the night there until you are Sorted tomorrow. I wish you luck, goodnight!"

Dismissed, Hermione turned on her heels and left the room with a bow to both elders, leaving Riddle in her wake.

"Hey! Wait!"

Not bothering to listen, she turned the corner and headed towards the Hospital Wing, until it suddenly struck her that she was not supposed to know her directions. Defeated, she turned back to find Riddle galloping down the office steps towards her.

"Jane!"

"I don't know where the Hospital Wing is."

He smiled charmingly again and Hermione swore her heart missed a beat before berating herself mentally. What was he doing to her?!

"I'll show you the way."

They walked together, Tom slightly in front, as he was leading. Turning back, he tried to begin a conversation.

"Look, Jane, about earlier, I really did think you were some spy here and well, being a Prefect and all, I have a duty to protect the students from outsiders."

"And that includes attacking anyone inside the castle you don't recognize?"

Unable to get rid of her, it seemed he was now determined to make a good impression so as not to lose his perfect Prefect image in the eyes of everyone else.

He was trying to befriend her so it would shut her up about his earlier actions.

Well, she'd be damned if she'd let that happen. Hermione Granger was going to make sure everyone would see just how foul he really was.

Tom turned to look at her. It was clear he was forcing composure from the way his jaw was clenched. Hermione had seen the same action done too many times by Snape, or even Harry not to notice. Riddle was obviously not used to having people refute or defy him in any manner.

They had reached the Hospital Wing and Hermione turned to look at him directly in the eyes.

"Look, I really don't care what you have to say. We both know you did that on purpose, so there's no point in covering it up. Just stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours."

With that, Hermione turned the brass knob and opened the door to the Hospital Wing. She stepped inside and turned to close the door, only to see him looking at her with an expression of candid earnest. Oh, he was good.

"But I'd like it if we could be friends."

Hermione scoffed.

"Right, and why would the great Tom Riddle want to be friends with a common Mudblood? Goodnight Tom."

Without giving him the time to reply, Hermione Granger closed the door in his face.


	4. Acceptance and Refusal

**Tempora Mutantur**

**Disclaimer: **do not own, plz don't sue me.

**A/N:**thanks to **bumblebee115, puresilver, raina, Huntress, MandaPandaAR, witch-cat-magic**for your reviews!it really means alot to me that you took the time to give me feedback, so I dedicate this chapter to you all, who gave me the motivation to write! **enjoy the chapter! it's quite a long one.**

To **witch-cat-magic: **yes, you're right. it is an actthat Tom is pulling. Tom Riddle is a popular boy in his time and I doubt he would have that status by being rude to everyone or acting in typical high Slytherin fashion. Essentially, everything he does is an act, whether it's to the student body, who he has around his finger, the teachers, or even his 'loyal followers' and 'friends'. Tom is a true Slytherin. He uses everything and everyone around him to suit his needs.

To **puresilver:** thx so much for your offer, which i will take you up on! my friend was supposed to beta for me, but she's just told me last week she's too busy with work. so, i will send all future chapters to you to beta, if you don't mind!

* * *

**Chapter 4:** **Acceptance and Refusal**

Hermione awoke to the dewy scent of morning, the soft breeze trailing the sunlight onto her bed covers, filling her with warmth and comfort.

Despite all events of the previous night, she had fallen asleep almost the moment her head hit the pillows.

The Hospital Wing nurse, Madam Longbourn, had healed all her bruises and cuts and given her a set of school robes to replace her ragged, burnt, old ones.

Hermione had almost been secretly glad for the duel between Riddle and herself. It had given her an excuse as to why there were so many wounds on her body. In truth, all Riddle had managed to do was burn her robes and give her a few minor cuts. The majority of the lesions Madam Brody had healed had been sustained from the battle with the Death Eaters before her return in time.

The young nurse had looked at the wounds while shaking her head in a disapproving manner, muttering "oh, that Tom" under her breath, although the affectionate twinkle in her eye gave her away on her real feelings about Tom Riddle.

Hermione had angrily glowered about this behaviour from a _school nurse_, no less, until said nurse had given her something to eat and promptly sent her to bed with a cheerful smile and a parting.

"I'm sure Tom will be here tomorrow to apologize for what he did. You must have really startled him or I don't know why he would have reacted so violently. Really, darling, he's a sweetheart, Prefect and top of his class, you know. But, I'm sure you'll find that out for yourself tomorrow. He gets along with everyone, that Tom, even when he's in Slytherin…such a sweet boy…"

Needless to say, that comment did nothing to improve Hermione's mood or her impression of Tom Riddle.

Did that boy have everyone wrapped around his finger?

Why couldn't they see that he was just an evil git bent on destroying the world?

Mentally wincing, Hermione realized how insanely preposterous that comment would sound if she were to tell everyone of Tom's true disposition.

_So, you know Tom Riddle, that brilliant, brave, Prefect boy? Well, he's an evil wizard who wants to destroy the world. _

No, alerting the world of Tom Riddle's rise as the most evil Dark Wizard of their time would only have her end up at St Mungo's facilities for the insane. She'd have to think of another way to stop him, even if killing him seemed like the best option so far. And that had proven to be pretty near impossible after their duel.

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes and seeking the comfort of her warm bed for a few more moments before facing a new day.

As usual, the memories pushed to invade her thoughts once again, as they always did in any moment of relaxation.

_Ginny's anguished screams as Harry fell, running to his side and then turning to Lord Voldemort with eyes blazing and wand at the ready. Voldemort's mocking sneer, right before he- _

The door to the Hospital Wing opened, admitting Albus Dumbledore to walk gaily into the spacious room, his blue eyes twinkling and a smile on his lips as he said,

"Ah, good morning, Ms.Gran- er- Cacher."

Dumbledore had been the one to give her a cover-up name. It had been a practical move, to avoid complications in the fabric of time, and Hermione was grateful for the future Headmaster's forethought.

His presence soothed away the worry and pain of grief and burden, weights Hermione had carried alone on her shoulders until now. Dumbledore's presence was a haven from reality, a reminder of a time long gone in her past and his future.

After his death, nothing had been right.

Reality, as Hermione recalled, had come crashing down upon their doors. Albus had been a symbol of hope to the Order, the only one He ever feared, and with that title had come the reliance of thousands of souls upon a single power. When that power was extinguished, those souls had nowhere to go, were lost to the inexorable reaches of the darkness.

That was how it had been. Suddenly everyone in the war was lost and confused. It had been Dumbledore who planned the battle strategies, Dumbledore who negotiated the alliances, Dumbledore who overturned odds of losing battles, Dumbledore who rescued them from the clutches of He-Who-Must–Not–Be-Named…

With the foundation gone, the house could only fall.

"How did you sleep last night?"

"Very well, Professor. Thank-you for all the help you've given me, sir."

Hermione had thought she would never feel the comfort of hope and assurance again after his death; she had never realized how much she relied upon him, how much they all did, until he was suddenly gone from her life. Having the future Headmaster suddenly back in her presence, solid, and infinitely real had been one of the greatest joys of her life, though she little expressed it outwardly.

It was as if the rug that had been swept from under her feet had unexpectedly had been placed back again, but as Hermione looked up admiringly at the greatest sorcerer of her time, she saw that something was troubling him.

"Professor, is there something the matter?"

"Yes, I'm afraid there is. Hermione, from my impression of you last night, I believe that we are familiarly acquainted in your time, so I will speak frankly. While I do not presume to know the future, I do know my intentions are to remain in this school in years to come, and as you've revealed to me that you are a student at Hogwarts in your time, I find it impossible how anyon_e_, _especially_ my future self, would allow you to back travel in time in an attempt to change it."

"Professor, I-"

Dumbledore held up a hand for silence.

"Now, I do not understand the circumstances of which you come, but I will offer you this warning and advice. Go back as soon as you may. Time is not something to be meddled with and it is not something which can be _changed_. Your very presence here may offset an intricate balance, and once that scale is tipped, it cannot be _undone._"

Blue eyes peered upon her sagely, and Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her bed. How could he say that when everything was gone, when the future as they knew it was dead? Surely, they could appeal to time this once to set everything right…

"Hermione," Dumbledore pronounced her name in grave tones, "I know what you are thinking, but nothing_, nothing_, is worth the risk of coming back here in an attempt to change what has already come to pass. However bleak the future may be, I tell you, _it is not worth the risk_. It will not do to run away while one still has the chance to fight. By seeking refuge in this era, you are not escaping the future, you are merely avoiding it, and at a great cost. I am sorry, but you must go back by whatever means you came. I will not aid you in whatever you have come here to do."

The room was silent now, Dumbledore awaiting her decision as Hermione looked down at her hands, avoiding his gaze. Some time along the vast quietness which stretched, she realized that the birds had stopped singing, and the morning sun was no longer shining and warm.

Reality, she realized, was crashing down upon her door once more.

It was she that broke the silence. "I have no way to go back. The Time Turner broke in my duel with Riddle."

"The Time- Turner? Ah, I'm afraid it does not yet exist in our time." Dumbledore sighed, one hand massaging the bridge of his nose where his glasses perched, as he said, "This will complicate things, but not by much. I will contact our Ministry and see what they can do for you. In the meantime, you and I shall spend our spare time researching into any spells or charms which might do the trick. I shall assign a task as an independent study in Transfiguration, and you will research this for me, Hermione."

Hermione nodded, her mind reeling. She was really going back. Dumbledore refused to help her and now she had to return to…she shuddered at the thought of the future.

But there was nothing to be done. Hermione knew herself that this "mission" of hers was doomed from the beginning. How could she possibly have thought to kill Riddle? Dumbledore was right; she must not tear the fabric of time, and killing Riddle would certainly do just that. She now saw the effects of prolonged hunger, depravation of sleep, and stress had on the mind. How could she think coming back here would help anything? Hadn't she been taught in her third- year that it was strictly forbidden for obvious reasons? Hadn't she read up on the consequences of attempting to change time? She had known about the countless instances where people erased their past selves, destroyed their own future, destroyed a town or city by revealing too much… And yet, she had come back here, cherishing the hope of saving Ron, and Harry and everyone else. Stupid…stupid…stupid….

Dumbledore seemed to see the battle within her mind, comforting her by patting her shoulder lightly and offering her a small smile.

"I'm truly sorry, Hermione, if I could anything I would, but it's simply too dangerous…Now, here are your school robes, you seemed to have burned your own robes last night, so I took the liberty of buying new ones. You textbooks are on the nightstand there, as is your schedule. There is also a money pouch containing two hundred galleons for any expenses you may need. Of course, you might want to keep that a secret. Hogwarts has its own fund for student expenses, but given the nature of your stay I decided to take your expenses upon myself. You will need expensive textbooks and ingredients for your 'assignment'."

Hermione nodded silently, grateful to the future Headmaster for his care, but still caught up in her own thoughts. Then, something struck her.

"Sir, which House am I to be in? Am I going to be re-Sorted?"

"Why, yes, Headmaster Dippet thought it would be a rather good way to introduce you to the students during breakfast this morning." Dumbledore looked down at his watch. "Speaking of which, I believe I have taken too much of your time. Breakfast is in half an hour. Take your time to get ready."

And with that, he stood and slowly strode towards the door, stopping as he opened it to peer back once more towards her, "oh, and Miss Granger," her alibi name was omitted, "Good Luck."

By the time of her arrival, the Great Hall was already buzzing with the sound of students. She looked around, unsure of where to seat herself. As her eyes drifted to the Slytherin table, she spotted Tom Riddle sitting beside a tall, bleach -blonde boy and a skinny brunette boy, both of whom seemed to be arguing with another member of the house. Whatever it was they were squabbling about, it seemed Riddle was enjoying himself, turning around as he stretched his limbs and suddenly caught her eyes.

The events of the night before instantly replayed in Hermione's mind, how she had insulted him.

"_But I'd like it if we could be friends."_

_Hermione scoffed. _

"_Right, and why would the great Tom Riddle want to be friends with a common Mudblood? Goodnight Tom."_

Thinking back, it probably hadn't been a good idea to ridicule what would become an evil Dark Wizard and it certainly had not been a good idea to slam the door in his face, but it didn't seem Tom took offence to that incident of the night before, as he imperceptibly raised his glass to her and nodded, his lips formed the trade- mark smirk.

Hermione was shocked to see that he wasn't angry with her or fuming. She had expected to make an enemy of him, so it would make her job easier to kill him, not that she was going to do _that_ now…

Hermione almost smiled back at him before she remembered who he was and abruptly turned and avoided further eye contact.

What was she doing?

It was all a ploy, just like last night when he had wanted to "befriend" her.

Didn't she know the future Voldemort enough not to underestimate his past self? He was simply toying with her, just as he did with everyone else in this school. She couldn't fall for it! She knew better!

There was a ringing chime of glass as Dippet called the students to order. Every pair of eyes turned to look at the Headmaster, every pair except one, which chose to gaze upon the new student.

Hermione could feel the heat on her back from the gaze of a certain boy with forest- green eyes. Why the hell was he staring at her? And why the hell did she care?

She forced herself to listen to Dippet's monotonous speech on her arrival, feeling more eyes on her now as curiosity bloomed within each student.

"-and so, it will be each of you responsibility to welcome Miss Cacher to Hogwarts and make her stay here a valuable experience. Now, without further ado, we will begin the Sorting. Miss Cacher, if you please."

Hermione did not respond. Unused to being called "Miss Cacher" and wandering in the depth of her own reverie, she was unaware that Dippet's long drone had finally ended.

"Miss Cacher?"

Still no response.

Someone snickered and there was light chuckling all through the Great Hall before she realized how foolish she looked and went to take a seat on the stool being offered to her.

One pair of forest- green eyes narrowed suspiciously.

The old Sorting Hat, looking not so old in this era, was brought out and placed promptly on her head. It spoke immediately.

"Ah, what is this, a time- traveler at Hogwarts? Well, well, it seems we will meet again in the future, no? But I see you've changed since I lastplaced you in Gryffindor, my dear."

Hermione caught her breath. Changed? How?

The hat read her thoughts and replied,

"Well, you've become protean, adapting and changing to suit your environment…there is still vast amounts of courage in you, I see…that overwhelming thirst for knowledge is still present…and the pure heart… still there… buried, perhaps, by layers of misgivings, but existent nonetheless…what to do, what to do…you would do well in any House really, my dear…though I think you already know which one I would suggest…yes…you're right, I haven't mentioned it because I know your feelings about Slytherin House, but you would do well there, Miss Granger, very well."

Hermione unconsciously sucked in her breath. Her? In Slytherin?

"Yes. I'm afraid war at such a tender age has changed you. Your former beliefs of nobility and honour, ideals and utopias, good triumphing over evil, would have placed you in Gryffindor. But these beliefs have been replaced by something else…you know of what I speak. It is the cause and effect of why you are here, after all. Slytherin House would shelter your new beliefs; it would provide you with the power you require for what is inevitably coming, it would help you survive in the future. True, you are Muggleborn, which Slytherin himself would object to, but that would be nothing in comparison to your potential, which they would all soon realize over time. Your thirst for knowledge, your desire to prove yourself as a Muggleborn equal to any Pureblood could all be achieved there…your brilliant mind would be put much more to use, and with your abilities, you could have power at the tips of your fingers, my dear girl, if you choose it…"

Hermione really wasn't listening to the hat anymore. All she could think was "not, Slytherin, please not Slytherin…not Slytherin, anything but Slytherin…" The hat heard her pleas.

"Are you sure? There is one other in Slytherin House, whom you've already met, who could help you greatly, in more ways than one. You would meet your match there, meet the challenge you've so desperately wanted in school in your own time...no? Very well, if you have your heart set on it, but be warned that things this time around will not be like the last. You have changed, my dear, and many members of your House will not…share your views. One last piece of advice, Miss Granger: use the past to know the present."

Hermione barely heard the Sorting Hat's last comment before it yelled, "Gryffindor!" for all to hear.

She took off the hat and placed it on the stool before walking slowly to her table, thoughts preoccupied on what the hat had said and how close she had just been to being Sorted Slytherin.

The Great Hall was quiet. Unlike her first Sorting, no one was clapping now, and she snapped out of her reverie to look upon Gryffindors before her. They studied her with curiosity. The new student had taken a long time to be Sorted, longer than any of them had ever taken. She seemed like a mystery, appearingoutof nowhere during the middle of the term, no ties, no connections, and now this. The students of Gryffindor House were baffled.

Eventually, however, the clapping started, curiosity replaced by a proper sense of politeness as Gryffindor table cheered loudly for their new arrival and welcomed her into their midst. There was a time for questions later.

Across the Hall, at the other end, a pair of forest green eyes was still fixed intently upon the new student, a hundred questions buzzing within the mind of the owner of those remarkable eyes.

That had not been an ordinary Sorting, he concluded. This girl, whoever she was, was anything but ordinary, and whatever secrets she held, he would soon find out.

Because, Tom Riddle told himself, he loved to solve mysteries.

* * *

**A/N:** well, what did you think? plz review and tell me. i have to say, your reviews really motivate me to write.

To be honest, i was scared no one would like this fic, b/c the beginning starts off so much like the other tr/hg fics i've read, which really wasn't my intention but somehow ended up like this anyways.

I started with no real concrete idea of where i was heading, and got stuck in the pretext of the pairing, which is really contricting for the plot, since you need the time-turner, the alibi, blahblahblah, before really getting to the plot.

So, let me just say that i am sooo glad i am FINALLY, after 4 chapters, done all the preliminary settings and can now focus on the REAL plot. yah!

thx for reading and plz remember to review!

-love selenoliber


	5. Sleeping Serpent

**Tempora Mutantur**

**Disclaimer: **do not own, plz don't sue me.

**A/N:**thanks to **bumblebee115, puresilver, MandaPandaAR, witch-cat-magic, That- One- Kid, steph, vla1diva, Mrs Pierre Bouvier, sweet- witch, amy, ohmygoddess, aadi, amrawg, lunylovegood, megami **for your reviews! That was really scary...seeing reviews jump from 5 to 30...I couldn't believe it when I saw the stats and had to refresh it several times to make sure it was real. And in appreciation for your many reviews, this chapter was written as quickly as possible, 4 days after the last update! **Thanks soo much! As usual, I dedicate this chapter to you all, who gave me the motivation to write! **

**Special thanks go out to puresilver, who graciously volunteered to beta this chapter b/c my friend couldn't, and who replied on the same day that I emailed, so that this chapter could be brought to all of you so quickly. Thanks- again puresilver! I loved the changes that you made. Without you, chapter 5 wouldn't be so great!**

Many of you asked me questions about the chapter 4. I will address your comments at the end of each new chapter from now on.

**Ok, so without further ado, enjoy chapter 5!**

* * *

**Sleeping Serpent**

Hermione's 'first day' at Hogwarts turned out to be surprisingly easy.

It was a half hour till dinner and she had decided to spend the time wandering the Hogwarts grounds with a Muggle play entitled _Peter Pan _for light reading. Of all her childhood fairy tales, it was among her favourites, and she re-read the play whenever she could.

Although her schedule was packed with NEWTS classes that she had never been given a chance to take after sixth year, (Hogwarts had been closed down during that time) Hermione found that she was able to keep up with most of the lessons because of the extra reading she had done during the summer before.

She sighed contentedly. For the first time in a long time, Hermione felt a shred of normalcy returning to her.

She felt she could easily sink herself back into the simple routine of classes, could already feel her thirst for knowledge peaking as she eagerly raised her hand to answer each question posed, surprising most of her Professors by her vast arsenal of knowledge and skills. The best part of her first day had been during Defense Against the Dark Arts, when she had successfully brandished the silvery otter form of her Patronus. Professor Merrythought, to her crowning glory, had been so surprised that he awarded her House twenty points.

_Yes, today had been great_, Hermione recalled contentedly, moving to sit under a large, shady oak, _it had been perfect except for one little snag; a snag that came in the form of a tall figure with wavy black hair and green eyes. _

Tom Riddle had been following her around the entire day.

He'd given her some lame excuse of "Headmaster Dippet told me to help you in your classes", and then had the nerve to walk with her to _every_ class, all the while trying to strike up polite conversation, smiling at her in that way which made her heart flutter, and even having the nerve to _correct_ her in class when she mistranslated a rune in Ancient Runes, all the while smiling that damn charming smile of his, which made every other girl in the room swoon and giggle!

Damn prat!

As if she didn't know what he was doing; still trying to befriend the 'new girl' to quell those rumours about Prefect Tom Riddle starting a duel in the middle of the night with said new girl and accusing her of being a spy. If word got around, what would everyone think? It just wouldn't match the squeaky clean persona of Prefect Tom, brilliant and handsome Slytherin, and most popular boy in the school.

As if she couldn't see through his schemes, Hermione fumed, her tranquil mood ruined by reminders of Riddle.

Oh, how she loathed him.

This boy would grow up to destroy everything she would ever love. The last thing she wanted to do was to spend _more_ time with him. As if the duel and those excruciating hours in the Headmaster's Office hadn't been enough!

But it seemed Fate had other ideas in mind.

Or rather, Dippet.

The old man had, for some reason, placed her in all of Riddle's classes! Where he got the idea to have a Slytherin help a Gryffindor she would never know, but it was obvious this little scheme was not going to work.

Apart from the fact that she _hated _the Slytherin Prefect, there was also the rest of his house to consider, and needless to say, they were not amused by the idea of their leader spending his time with a Gryffindor.

Glares had been shot her direction all day, and though she did not mind it from the Slytherins, since she was used to that treatment from _their _quarter, she had been very surprised to see similar looks of loathing from several of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw girls, and even one Gryffindor!

They really didn't understand. It wasn't as if she _wanted_ to spend time with him!

So what if he was smart and handsome and unbelievably charming when he wanted to be. Even now, she wondered how those intense green eyes of his changed colors to mingle with faint swirls of dark blue, grey, and even red at times, though she thought the latter was a trick of the light.

_His eyes are mesmerizing, _an impish little voice in the back of her head had said. Hermione had, of course, immediately squashed that little voice in her head.

Riddle? Mesmerizing? As if!

Yes, so what if she stared at him today during class, unaware that she was staring until he caught her eye and curved his lips into his infamous smirk while returning her gaze.

So what? She still hated him. In the future, he had taken away everything she ever loved. And that, Hermione thought haughtily to herself, could _never_ be forgiven.

Furthermore, his spending time with her had meant that she couldn't befriend anyone from her own house! She'd managed to talk to a few students from her own house, but as soon as they saw Tom Riddle approaching they'd scuttle away, either from fear of being seen with a Slytherin or getting in trouble with a Prefect Hermione didn't know. However, she did know she had desperately wanted to meet one person in particular: the younger Minerva McGonagall.

It was obvious that the younger Gryffindors practically hero- worshipped McGonagall. When she had asked about her during breakfast, the first- years had ranted on and on about how great and intelligent and perfect their Prefect was, second only to Riddle, and favoured to become Head Girl next year.

Unfortunately, Hermione and her future Professor only shared one class together: Potions. Before class, Minerva McGonagall had looked as if she would come over to Hermione's table to introduce herself, but when Riddle arrived and taken his assigned seat next to Hermione, she had blushed a crimson red and turned away immediately.

Hermione had tried to make eye contact several times during class without avail, and had finally given up to listen to the lesson on Amortentia, which she had studied already in her own time.

She was unaware of Tom Riddle's careful scrutiny of her during class or of his narrowed eyes when she managed to perfect the potion on her first attempt, even though it'd been obvious she hadn't been paying attention during at least half the lesson.

At first, Riddle had offered her help, which was met by Hermione's flat refusal. He had observed her potion for a long while before he saw that she knew exactly what she was doing and returned to his own potion.

They had been the only ones who managed to perfect the Amortentia by the end of class, (Minerva's potion being a tint too pink,) and Slughorn had handsomely awarded each of them forty house points, while eying the new girl with obvious interest.

Hermione sighed again, flipping open her book as she began to read the first page of _Peter Pan_.

_All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up… _

The leaves of the old oak she sat under gave a slight rustle, as the spring breeze lightly brushed the landscape and cooled the warm air. Somewhere behind her, there were birds lightly chirping and the snap of twigs under polished, black shoes.

_I really shouldn't worry about Riddle, she thought after some time, no longer focusing on the words on the page. He probably hates spending time with me as much as I do him. I mean, I'm a Mudblood after all, and nothing special really. I couldn't possibly attract his attention. Dippet probably just asked him to do this as a favour and as soon as the week's over, I'll never hear from him again. _

With that thought in mind, she returned to her reading. It was going to be dinnertime soon and she wanted to finish at least half of the first chapter. She soon became enraptured by the written word and forgot her surroundings completely, even the slow crescendo of footsteps under growing numbers of snapping twigs.

Hermione had barely finished the third page when the book was rudely taken out of her hands by some unforeseeable force from behind.

She turned to find a pair of familiar green eyes, though the face and figure were blurred by the glare of the setting sun.

"Harry?"

"That's the second time you've called me that."

"Riddle," Hermione snarled, as the tall shadow stepped away from the sun's rays, closer towards her, so she could see him clearly. "Don't you know it's rude to sneak up on people?"

Tom Riddle shrugged, seemingly nonchalant, one hand still clutching the book he had taken from her. He leaned casually against the tree, looking incredibly handsome as the sun's rays outlined his angelic features.

"I called your name but you didn't respond. Too caught up in this book I guess. It's almost dinnertime. Headmaster Dippet thought you might have forgotten and told me to come find you."

"How generous of you," Hermione sneered. She really couldn't help but be uncivil. He was the reason she'd lost everything in the future after all, the reason all her friends were dead. The reason Ron…

Forest- green eyes narrowed and Hermione was snapped out of her thoughts about Ron when she caught the glint of red in his eyes. Trick of the light again? Or something else?

"Is it your usual tendency to be so rude to those attempting to offer you help? I've done everything in my power to make up for that unfortunate incident with the duel, you know."

His voice was deathly cold and there was an underlying edge of steel which Hermione had not heard since the night of the duel.

Had she hurt his feelings? She almost felt guilty; that is, until she remembered that Lord Voldemort had no feelings.

_'But he's not the Dark Lord yet, is he,_' the impish voice from before squeaked silently, _'He's just a boy and you could influence him…change him…_

Again, Hermione had to mentally check her train of thought. Where did that voice come from anyway? Hadn't she just had a conversation with Dumbledore this morning where he had told her _not_ to distort the time-space continuum?

_Think of the future though_…the impish voice cooed._ Dumbledore has no idea what's in store for him…besides, he let you and Harry rescue Sirius in third- year, didn't he…think of all the lives that would be saved…think of Harry…Ron…do you really want to lose them both? Do you really want to return to that bleak, hopeless place where only death awaits you? By telling you to go back, Dumbledore's sending you to your death. By listening to him, you're signing your own death warrant… _

"Cacher? Cacher!"

Hermione was forcibly shaken out of her inner battle by Tom's harsh tone.

"Huh?"

"I asked you a question!"

"Oh- sorry. I didn't hear." Hermione winced inwardly. Why was she being nice to him by apologizing? She wanted him to leave her alone!

"I asked if it was your usual tendency to be so rude to those attempting to offer you help," Riddle replied arrogantly. "I've seen you with others and you're not nearly so impudent."

"Well, I do remember asking you to leave me alone that night of the duel. Maybe I should ask why you're still sticking around unwanted, unless you're masochistic of course," she answered smartly, carefully avoiding answering the real question.

He saw through her plot, however, and smirked before noting,

"What a Slytherin answer."

"Yes, seeing as how I was Sorted into Gryffindor."

To her surprise, he scoffed.

"That was a mistake."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You're questioning the Sorting Hat now? And what, pray tell, makes you think you know better?"

He looked at her shrewdly, the intensity of his eyes unnerving, and Hermione unconsciously gulped as she realized that they were quite alone.

Riddle seemed to notice the same thing, as he took a step towards her, eyes still assessing her with their searing intensity.

He drawled, "Why do I think you don't belong in Gryffindor? Would you like me to tell you, Jane?"

He took another step forward, his actions taking on a predatory air now; leaving Hermione sufficiently unsettled as she cautiously stepped backwards.

"Yes," she replied, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. She had fought Death Eaters in her time! So why was so scared of a teenage Riddle?

Riddle took another step forward, effectively trapping her against the old oak tree with his body. His hands stretched out to place themselves on either side of her head, successfully boxing her in.

He was much too close.

Hermione could feel that crackle of electricity, the rush of raw, unadulterated magic flowing through the air much like that night of the duel.

"R-Riddle, what are you doing?" her voice shuddered as she posed the question, but found that she didn't care anymore. There was no point pretending. He knew she was scared. That had been his goal, after all.

His eyes still held her own, though their forest- green colour had taken on a darker hue, appearing almost black now. The intensity of his gaze stunned her and Hermione felt as if someone had reached into her chest and snatched away the air in her lungs.

For one very brief moment, it seemed as if time had stopped, and there was just the two of them, staring at the other for what seemed like eternity.

For that brief moment, Hermione forgot about her responsibilities, her future, Dumbledore, her friends. And in that moment, she realized and accepted what that little voice had been telling her all day.

Then the moment was broken and the torrents of reality came rushing back, crashing against the gates of reason.

"Let me go, Riddle!"

Hermione struggled against Tom Riddle for release without success. He was much stronger and he knew it, a look of amusement donning his features as he watched her continued failures.

But the struggling had been a diversion. Hermione knew that she had no chance of physically freeing herself, so while she had kicked and pushed and shouted, one hand had slowly and discreetly traveled to the pocket of her robe.

She pulled out the wand now, pointing it at Riddle just under his chin with an utter look of defiance that made him smile.

"Tom Riddle," Hermione said in her most severe tone, "you'll let me go unless you want _repayment _for setting my robes on fire the other night."

Surprisingly, the Slytherin backed off without a word or sneer. Instead, his expression was triumphant, the usual smirk gracing his features once more.

_What was going on,_ Hermione thought confusedly, _hadn't I just won that?_

Riddle seemed to read her thoughts, as he leaned in and whispered arrogantly into her ear,

"Thank-you."

"W-what?" She knew she was sputtering again. _Why was he thanking her?_

Tom was still at her ear, the heat from his breathing playing over her skin, making her flush. Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that he knew perfectly well what he was doing as he whispered softly,

"For proving my point."

"What point?" She snapped. Tom looked her again; his eyes full of mirth as he suddenly pulled away from her and stepped back, while replying,

"The one you've just helped me prove, Jane. Purposely distracting me so I wouldn't notice while you reached for your wand…how very _Slytherin_." He sneered. "A Gryffindor would have just pulled out her wand openly, you know. She'd risk her opponent doing the same, of course, and lessen her own chances of winning, but it would have been a noble and honourable act instead of that stunt you just pulled."

"I-"

"You wanted to better your chances of winning against me and knew you couldn't do it physically, so you 'tricked' me into believing I was winning, but meanwhile, behind my back, you were looking for the weapon which would turn the odds in your favour. Like I said, Jane, it was a very Slytherin tactic. No wonder the hat took so long to place you."

Hermione stood there flabbergasted. Thinking back, she remembered their conversation before he'd cornered her_. "Why do I think you don't belong in Gryffindor? Would you like me to tell you, Jane?" _

Her actions had accounted for his answer without him having to say a word!

Hermione admitted that it had been a very Slytherin tactic. Neither Harry nor Ron would have done it. Riddle had proven his point more than effectively. Her actions had been instinctive and Hermione shuddered at the thought of being, on impulse, anything Slytherin.

She couldn't believe the git…he'd played her!

And she'd walked straight into his trap!

Oh, how she wanted to slap him right then and there, future Dark Lord be damned! Anything to get rid of that stupid arrogant smirk on his face!

Tom seemed to read her mind, as he said serenely and politely,

"Now we're even; the score's one-to-one again, Miss Cacher."

"Even..?"

"Yes, check your pocket."

Hermione regretted doing so as soon as she reached her hand into the pocket and pulled it out dripping of a yellowish green liquid smelling of petrol. She knew from experience precisely what it was.

"Bubotuber pus!"

Tom Riddle smirked, the glint in his eyes hard and deathly cold.

"Retribution, for slamming the door in my face the other night. You didn't think I'd forget now, did you? Luckily for you, it's diluted, so the effects aren't so potent nor visible as the undiluted kind. It'll still smart for a few days, though. I don't recommend going to Madam Longbourn. The effects are untraceable, you see,so she won't know what to fix."

He came close to her ear again, hissing so softly she had to strain her ears to hear,

"Since you've rejected my generousoffers at friendship, I thought it…necessary…to inform you of your _status _within this school, mudblood. Do. Not. Cross. Me. You don't want me for an enemy."

He backed away and smiled pleasantly at her before turning to walk towards the school while calling over his head,

"Come along now, Jane. I know I'm not your favourite company but we're stuck with each other until Headmaster Dippet says otherwise. Might as well make the best of it. Dinner is waiting."

Hermione looked after Tom Riddle, frozen, with an expression of utter shock and outrage.

He'd outsmarted her! Her! The smartest witch of her age!

Tom Riddle had not only proven his point, she realized. He'd wounded her pride, and gotten revenge in the process. He'd managed to kill three birds with one stone.

The Sorting Hat's words replayed in her mind._ You would meet your match there, meet the challenge you've so desperately wanted in your own time… _

Oh, she'd met a challenge alright. So he wanted to play a game, did he?

_Well, _Hermione huffed_, fine by me. _

She looked down bitterly at her injured hand and began to walk after him.

The evil git.

It was dinnertime and her stomach was growling, though she was hungry for something entirely different: revenge.

_"The score's one-to-one again, Miss Cacher." _

Hermione scoffed. Not for long.

_Not for long…_

* * *

**A/N: Ok, so how did you all like chapter 5? Review and tell me! I'm anxious for feedback!**

Now to answer questions and comments about chapter 4.

**1. Why was Hermione placed in Gryffindor?**

Someof you wondered why I didn't place Hermione in Slytherin.I think **megami's** review covered my basic reasons. It was very tempting, but I took into consideration that Hermione's character wouldn't allow herself to be put into Slytherin. She would deny any connection to that house, even if she knew deep down that she belonged there. It's the way she's been brought up as best friends to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. She would undoubtedly have that bias and as a willful character, I don't think the Sorting Hat could have convinced her. It tried to convince Harry in first-year and failed, so in Hermione's case, who is much more biased I would think, it wouldn't have a chance. Any other reasons I might have had for putting her in Gryffindor...you'll have to wait and see...

**Witch-cat-magic:**_I must say- when i read this i was surprised. It is worth the risk. Why would the dumbledore in hermione's time tell her to change the past but this dumbledore say ''it is not worth the risk''. Well, i thought about it and it's real simple! The dumbledore in tom riddle's time hasan't experianced all the bad things yet to come yet! "_

_  
_You were absolutely right with that assumption. I wanted to show the difference between the younger and older Dumbledore, however small the difference. Since time-turners don't exist in his time, the past Dumbledore has no idea how it would work or that there are possible loopholes one could exploit, so he would naturally advise Hermione to simply return home. It's always easier to preach when you don't know the specifics. In Sirius' case, it was a human life on the line. The past Dumbledore has no idea of the future, so he is simply looking at the situation from a platonic perspective, and the propect of changing time itself would appear dangerous and unnecessary.

_''use the past to know the present." What does that mean? Sorry, that just confused me._

LoL. yes, that sentence was meant to confuse. I'm keeping quiet it...it'll come up in the future...

**megami:** yes, you're right. i did repost. i have to say, when i read your review, i was very excited. you grasped exactly what i was trying to get at! everything from the sorting to the gryffindors' treatment of her! i went squealing around the room when i read this:

_'Hermione, like Harry, would not appreciate being put into Slytherin and here, again, you're placing will power over fate, which I found ironic since Hermione's being controlled by fate_._'But no doubt you're going to explore that in future chapters.'_

I should probably watch what I say so I don't give away any future plot...but honestly, you have a very precise grasp of the matter...

**Thanks again for reading! And don't forget to review. If you have any questions, plz feel free to ask!**

**luv, selenoliber**


	6. Let Sleeping Serpents Lie

**AN: **hey guys.

**A Big Thanx to**:** puresilver, MandaPandaAR, vla1diva, Mrs Pierre Bouvier, sweet- witch, aadi, amrawg, megami, Hannah-Freya, Barry-bob-inr, Three Moons, Maeve, Silver Tears 11, jip91 for reviewing!**

**Special thx to: puresilver, for betaing again, even when she was sick. Feel better!**

I hope you all enjoy chapter 6! Let me just say that it might not be what you all expected...

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 6: Let Sleeping Serpents Lie**

_It was dinnertime and her stomach was growling, though she was hungry for something entirely different: revenge. _

_"The score's one-to-one again, Miss Cacher." _

_Hermione scoffed. Not for long. _

_Not for long…_

Life was good.

Tom stalked confidently towards the Great Hall for breakfast. It had been a day since he'd last seen Jane Cacher and 'proven his point'; the girl had been dutifully silent towards him ever since, ignoring his presence in both classroom and halls.

Not that he cared.

The victory had been more than satisfying. The girl's defiant airs had been grating his nerves since the moment she'd arrived at Hogwarts.

To have seen the look on her face…

Tom closed his eyes and savoured the memory, still fresh in his mind, of a Jane whose face was contorted by shock and outrage.

Moments like these were what he lived for; games where his opponents faced utter humiliation without any means of retaliation.

What could she do, after all? Go and tell the professors?

He scoffed. Who would believe her?

She had no evidence. Diluted bubotuber pus had untraceable properties. It had been one of the reasons he'd chosen the herb. Completely undetectable.

In any case, if the wench chose revenge by telling the student population, she'd sully her _own_ reputation. Tom had made sure to be _most attentive_ to the new girl's every need since she'd arrived, offering to help her in her homework, walking with her to classes, etc.

Every student in Hogwarts was testament to that fact. If she went off sprouting stories of what he'd done, they'd only categorize her as an unfeeling ingrate or an insane lunatic.

It was her word against his, after all, and he had everyone in this damn school wrapped around his little finger.

Tom smirked, overly pleased with himself.

As far as the students were concerned Tom Riddle was, at this moment, Jane Cacher's _only_ friend and companion. He'd left her no time to make friends; walking her to all her classes, sitting next to her, stalking her about breakfast, lunch and dinner.

It had been a most tedious task, having to spend time with a _mudblood_, but he was satisfied now that he'd gotten his revenge and protected his reputation. It had all been worth it.

The girl was silenced.

And best of all, now he could move on to more important matters.

Two Ravenclaw sixth- year girls came through the double doors of the Great Hall. He smiled at both charmingly, hearing one of the girls giggle behind him as she passed.

It was really too easy, Tom mused. Really, people were just too foolish and trusting that he had no challenge, no real adventure.

World domination would be effortless if everyone in society were identical to the unsuspecting, giggling idiots presiding at Hogwarts.

He craved for a challenge; something, someone who could stand up to him, admire the genius of his work and ideals, the fruits of his labour.

If only one such person existed among his circle of nitwits to even comprehend the vastness of his brilliance and cunning…but alas, it seemed the closest creature who could match his wits also happened to be someone not worth his time.

That dirty blood was a shame.

Tom glanced over towards the Gryffindor table, easily spotting Cacher sitting alone, making quick work of her breakfast.

The girl was still an enigma.

Even now, he had no idea how she'd gotten so experienced in her spell work. It was clear from their duel that she was a powerful witch, more capable than probably most of the seventh years.

Tom reluctantly assented that he had a grudging respect for her, even if she was a mudblood.

Her performances in classes had proven that she was a highly competent student. She had even beaten him to answering a question a few times during Herbology and Arithmancy classes.

They'd wait until their first test to see who was truly the superior.

"Tom!"

He inclined his head slightly to see several of his followers coming to greet him from the entrance hall. A hand clamped onto his shoulder and he was met with the familiar face of Aldous Black.

Black immediately lowered his voice to a whisper once he was certain he'd caught Tom's attention.

"Everything is ready, my lord. We await your word for the next meeting."

Sitting down at the far end of the Slytherin table to avoid notice, Tom casually took a piece of buttered toast, purposely avoiding eye contact as he said,

"Tonight. The usual place, on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Tell the others."

Then, just as Black prepared to sit down opposite him, Tom reached out and grasped his hand painfully tight, eliciting a grunt of pain from the other. Black's eyes flew up to meet the piercing gaze of sharp green eyes, a shiver of fear running through the boy's body, afraid he'd done something wrong, somehow displeased his lord by sitting.

Too easy, striking fear in others. Show them a bit of power and they all cowered before him.

Tom summoned his most commanding voice, keeping his pitch low to a whisper, as he hissed,

"Come prepared. I won't be held responsible for an incident like the last time. I've…become aware of a new development...and I won't allow incompetence tonight"

Black's eyes grew wide; obviously curious about these "new developments". He nodded, before Tom let him go and the others took their seats around their leader.

Too easy. He didn't even need Legilimency to know what they thought. It was all clearly written on their faces. The fear and admiration.

As if he could inspire anything less, Tom thought haughtily. The world would one day tremble at his feet. He would have his revenge.

Before opening the morning owl deliveries, he took a long glance across the hall towards the Gryffindor table.

Jane was still there, openly staring at him, or rather; the large pile of pink, confetti, singing love letters he'd gotten along with this morning's Daily Prophet.

Tom scoffed, looking down and figuring a particularly frilly pink letter signed "secret admirer" in large bold letters.

Honestly, the sheer stupidity…as if these letters were going anywhere except into the nearest fireplace…

He made a show of reading every single one, however, smiling humbly at everyone who looked his way, before packing everything up and readying himself for class.

The things he did for his image…

He noticed that Cacher was nowhere to be seen, had left the hall without notice.

Yes, so he was a bit_ too_ interested in the girl, even bordering on obsessive, but he had a burning curiosity to unshroud the bewitching spell surrounding her.

It was clear to him Jane Cacher carried a dark secret; it was etched in the lines of her face, her every expression, the look in her eyes. And dark things attracted Tom Riddle. He'd always like the darkness, and the people who dwelled within it.

Darkness was endless, a bottomless pit of power, and above all else, Tom was drawn to power. It was unmistakable to him that this girl possessed potential for great things.

It really was a pity about the blood, or he might have found a use for her among his ranks. Instead, she'd fall eventual prey to his growing campaign.

As it was, Tom couldn't afford any more time towards a mudblood of her status; she was of no immediate use to him.

He was going to become the next Dark Lord, and he'd simply have to learn, that trash like Cacher were not worth his attentions, even if she was intelligent and mysterious.

In any case, Tom thought smugly, making his way to his first class in the dungeons. No matter how smart she thinks she is, she's still no match for me. No lion can defeat a serpent.

_Just an insignificant mudblood, not worth anyone's time. _

He'd soon find out just how wrong he was…

_Let sleeping serpents lie..._

_**And the snakes roused their heads...**_

------------------------------------------

_**(The Present)**_

The room was dark and dank, chillingly cold, despite the burning embers of a just diminished fire. In the shadows, a lone figure sat languidly in a large, cushioned armchair, face obscured by an impenetrable darkness.

"My Lord. Everything is ready. We have located the girl."

Lord Voldemort turned slowly, glowing red slits laying upon the huddled mass kneeling on the dusty floorboards.

"And the preparations?"

"All done, My Lord. We shall act when you say the word."

"Very well. You shall be awarded, Avery, for your services. Now bring him to me. He just outside the door. We have much to discuss."

"Yes, My Lord. Thank-you, My Lord."

The crouching bundle of black robes that was Avery slowly crawled backwards towards the door, head kept faithfully to the floor as he exited the room.

A swoosh of robes passed him, the movement almost serpentine, as the masked figure of a fellow Death Eater made his way into the Dark Lord's audience, the large wooden oak door swinging soundlessly closed behind him.

Avery thought, _whatever they had to speak of, it was going tobe a long night._

_Let sleeping serpents lie..._

_**They flexed their bodies, rejuvenating aching muscles beneath the scales...**_

----------------------

Hermione Granger was in a foul mood.

This morning had been a real hassle. Trying to get ready without the use of her left hand was extremely futile. Even after she had slept on it and tried every healing charm she knew, she could barely move her injured hand.

She had decided then and there that whatever hatred she had felt for Tom Riddle-hereafter named The Evil Git, as she'd christened him- whatever hatred she had felt before that morning, had now been doubled. Hermione winced as her hand accidentally brushed against the wooden bench she was currently sitting on, shooting electrifying shocks through her hand and up her arm. Make that tripled.

She glared across the hall towards the Slytherin table, eyes searching for The Evil Git.

Riddle- she meant- The Evil Git- was sitting with a group of boys at the far end of the table, looking very tense and serious. However, his attention was diverted when an owl swooped in and deposited the newspaper, along with a large pink bundle into his lap.

Hermione squinted to make out what the bundle was and then blanched in disbelief. There on Riddle's lap, was at least _a dozen_ love letters, all decorated with frilly pink lace and with big red hearts and letters. They even _sang_.

Looking around the Great Hall, she saw that more than a few girls were glancing his way curiously, some of their eyes backlit with hopeful wishes.

As if Riddle would pay them any attention, she thought, shaking her head. He was much too preoccupied trying to take over the world to notice giggling, idiotic girls and their simpering confessions on paper.

To her great surprise, however, Riddle pulled out a ruffly singing pink letter and began to read. In fact, much to her annoyance, after he was done reading the one, he pulled out another and moved on to the next.

Just what was he playing at?

It then struck Hermione that The Evil Git wouldn't look too good if he simply chucked the whole lot into the fire.

Urgh, the hypocrite! After the way he'd treated her too!

She was so disgusted by his sugary,janus display that she lost all appetite and left the hall immediately to attend class. It was still early, but Hermione needed time for herself to think.

She needed to plot revenge. The question was _how_?

She knew perfectly well that it couldn't be some silly prank like those Fred and George pulled. No. This one required thought and meaning. She needed to match him in wit and cunning. _She needed to be a serpent._

Riddle's barb had been delivered with his meaning clearly evident; he'd made his point, he'd gotten his revenge, and he'd wounded her pride. The latter, she wasn't sure if it'd been his intent, but he had certainly mocked her intelligence and capabilities with that little trick of his.

If she wanted to get even, she also needed to do the same; 1) make her point, 2) get her revenge and 3) wound his pride.

_But how?_ What point did she want to make? And how would she wound his pride if she didn't even _know_ him?

Hermione racked her brain for answers without any reply. By the time Potions Class commenced, she was no closer to reaching an ultamatum.

Since the incident, Hermione'd ignored Riddle, pretending he didn't exist. If he was offended, he didn't show it, still sitting next to her in classes and walking with her in the halls, although neither of them spoke.

She presumed he did everything on Dippet's orders; the two weeks had yet to pass, after all, so he was obligated by his Prefect duties.

As the object of her thoughts strode into the room and seated himself next to her without a second glance, she sighed and glanced across the room at Minerva McGonagall. She was still no closer to making any friends because of Riddle's ever annoying presence. If this kept up, she'd be a loner for the remainder of her stay at Hogwarts.

As Slughorn began his lengthy and complicated lecture on Beguilement Potions, however, Hermione willed herself to pay attention to the lesson.

"One drop of this precious potion and you can easily distract your enemy from his goals, make his mind wander, divert his concentration…"

Beside her, she heard Tom snigger and murmur,

"What an idiot invention. I can do that with mere words…"

Hermione spared him a glance before turning her attention back to Slughorn.

What an arrogant, conceited jerk, she thought. If she ever concocted an idea for exacting her revenge, it wouldn't be hard to wound _his_ pride and ego. Both were too inflated in her opinion.

She didn't consider, of course, that this was the future Dark Lord she was talking about, who might have reasons to be proud.

Instead, Hermione spent the rest of the class perfecting her potion, outwardly ignoring Tom Riddle, while all the time thinking about him in the recess of her mind, where she was brewing sinister revenge.

Neither of them spoke throughout the class, both choosing to work independently and without aid, even when Slughorn gave them the option of partnering with a classmate. However, a problem arose when Hermione was required to stir the thick, molasses-like potion. Both hands were required, and she only had one at her disposal.

Sighing resignedly, Hermione tapped Riddle on the shoulder. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, midway through cutting up his gillyweed.

"I need help stirring the potion."

One eyebrow arched gracefully in question.

"Why?"

Hermione was now very irritated. As if he didn't know why. "My hand is hurt," she snapped, "I can't do it!"

"Tsk-tsk. Temper, temper, Cacher. I don't know if I want to help you after that outburst. Do keep your voice down."

He turned towards her, nevertheless, positioning himself behind her, while one hand covered her own over the wooden stirring stick. Hermione gasped at the contact.

Tom simply smirked arrogantly and whispered menacingly in the shell of her ear,

"Move, Cacher. You're in my way. You can finish cutting my gillyweed for me while you're waiting."

Hermione glared angrily at him, barely able to suppress her anger, earning herself another self- satisfied smirk from Riddle, before she began cutting his gillyweed.

As she cut, she noticed that more than a few heads were turned in their direction, and that she was receiving more than a few looks of envy from Gyffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs alike.

All of the Slytherin girls were glaring at her viperously through slanted, narrow eyes.

She ignored everyone.

It was a half hour before Potions Class was finally over, and she walked to the front of the class to hand in her vial of Beguilement Potion. Riddle was still at his desk, a look of concentration set upon his brow, as he completed the final finishing touches to his own potion.

And that was when it struck her.

The perfect idea.

Her perfect revenge.

It had never occurred to Hermione that all morning, she had been given snippets of information which would form the ideal plan if combined together.

Now, as she thought back on the events of the morning, everything seemed transpicuous, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together.

Oh, Tom Riddle was going to be sorry he ever crossed this muggle-born.

Yes, Hermione thought, feeling lighter for the first time since their last run-in.

_Vengeance would be sweet. _

_Let sleeping serpents lie..._

_**They tested their tails, whips cutting into the air...**_

-----------------

There were countless whispers travelling the empty halls of Hogwarts at night, many of them faded memories or passing ghosts of thought.

Once in a while some ancient secret may dance along the midnight breeze, kissing fated listeners with forbidden tales of a time gone by.

But tonight, something was amiss. There were no hisses nor murmurs tonight, but shrieks of anguish reverberating from the lowest reaches of mighty Hogwarts.

In the dungeons deep, caged emotions, trapped frustration, and soaring jealousy impregnated the cool chilling dankness with molten, burning fire. The clash of hot and cold, fire and ice, foretold the rolling black clouds of a coming storm.

Tonight, there would be no peace in the bowels of the ancient school.

Tonight, the walls of the deep cried for vengeance.

"We need to teach that bitch a lesson."

"She's always around him, the stupid mudblood."

"You don't think that he-that he _likes_ her, do you?

"Of course not. We know better than _that_."

"Why is he spending time with her then?"

"Dippet's orders, I suppose."

"Did you see them in class today? _Holding hands._"

"He's always looking at her."

"She's always looking at _him_."

"We cannot let this continue."

"No."

"No."

"What do we do?"

"Revenge."

"She hasn't done anything."

"She's done enough. I saw her with him yesterday, before dinner, by an oak tree. They looked… _intimate_. She can't have him. He's ours."

"What do we do?"

"First we all agree. If we from Slytherin cannot have him, then no one will. We'll use any means necessary to wipe out the opposition, _no matter how ruthless_. Agreed?"

Silence, several souls within the room uneasy, hesitant, at this pronouncement; then, a collective murmur:

_"Yes."_

"But what do we do?"

"We give her a warning first."

"And if she doesn't listen?"

_"Then she'll pay."_

The cloaked shadows of feminine forms drifted and swayed under the flickering candlelight, punctuated by peels of high, eerie giggles and bone-chilling laughter.

These members of House of the Serpent had awakened under threat, and they now looked onward, with ravenous, famished eyes, towards the prey.

_Let sleeping serpents lie..._

**_Their forked tongues renewed their bearings, tested their surroundings..._**

----------------------

The giggles of the dungeons seeped through the crevasses of the old, primordial school, drifting past the gates, past the gamekeeper's hut, to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where another group of members were rallying under their leader, eyes also hungering for blood and carnage, though of a different sort.

United under a ghostly glow of green, they listened attentively to their master's well laid plans, heads bowed, forms kneeling, mouths pressed to the dirt.

Fear quivered in the night air here, but there was also an uncontainable excitement permeating the area.

United, under the mystical green glow, unaware of the rolling black clouds of an approaching storm, the soon-to be Death Eaters listened attentively to their new master.

_They were finally going to do it. After months of planning, the time was finally drawing near._

There would be blood, there would be carnage, and oh…there would be screams.

_Let sleeping serpents lie..._

_**The sleeping serpents had awakened.** _

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**A/N:** yes, I know. it's a cliffie, but before any of you bash me over the head with anything, let me say in my defense that I have a very good chapter planned for next time...plz don't hurt me (quails). 

**Now, as for Hermione's revenge, all the clues are in this chapter about what she is going to do. I'm pretty sure all of you smart cookies out there will figure it out!**

To answer **jip91's** question:

"_Tom, being the tres manipulative person he is, should be trying to maintain his image, which you touched upon, but then why would he do anything to provoke Hermione? It seems that she could easily respond with telling everyone about her first encounter with him? "_

Well, I hoped I touched on the reasons a bit more in this chapter, but mostly it's because no one would believe her. Tom's been playing his cards very carefully from the start, being the sneaky evil, manipulative hottie that he is, so his behaviour towards her in front of the general public would refute any slander Hermione throws his way. She is trapped in a time period where Tom Riddle is the most popular, and admirable boy of the school. Girls adore him, guys look up to him. Therefore, a little new girl saying anything bad about their hero would really only end up putting her in a bad position. Tom knows this and so does Hermione, and that is why he provokes her.

Anyways, I hoped I answered that to your satisfaction...

**Plz read and review!** I'm a very sad person and I admit I check my reviews at least four to five times a day...yes i know, very lame, but i can't help it.

luv, selenoliber


	7. Revenge

**AN:** hello once again my wonderful readers! chapter 7 has arrived. I really hope you guys like this chapter. It took a bit more time to write but it was around 11 pages on the word doc. so that will be my excuse for the delay.

**A Big Thanx to:** puresilver, bumblebee115, MandaPandaAR, vla1diva, Mrs Pierre Bouvier, amrawo, Hannah-Freya, Maeve18, Silver Tears 11, jip91, HorseLoverTW, hpfanf, Lady Gwenevere Smith, Lupin's Furry Little Problem, hanyu, AureliaMalfoy for reviewing! You guys are great!

**Usual special thx to:** **puresilver, my wonderful beta. **

**bumblebee115:** about your question last time, I'm going to keep my mouth shut about future chapters b/c I'm dying to spill the plot, so I'll say...maybe...

**vla1diva: **plz don't throw me off a cliff!(runs for help). I hope this chapter is more to your liking. As for TR/HG interaction...ask and you shall receive...

**AureliaMalfoy:** yes the last chapter was very sectioned. I was trying out a new writing style and got alot of mixed reviews on it. This chapter is less sectioned so I hope you'll find it to your liking.

I hope you all enjoy chapter 7!

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**Chapter 7: Revenge**

Tom awoke to a cheerful morning, sun beaming unto his green and white bed covers through the large French windows of his dormitory.

It was just another day at Hogwarts, although he did have an important History of Magic test today on the 1920s Goblin revolt and its culminating effects on the Wizarding Society.

Piece of cake, really, though he had studied extra hard to be _sure_ he would manage the top grade, determined that a _certain Gryffindor_ not outdo him in anything.

Pulling on his slacks, Tom quickly got ready for breakfast, sorting his books carefully into his knapsack before heading down to the Great Hall.

It was just another normal uneventful day.

During breakfast, he sat with his usual gang of followers, quietly eating his breakfast, mentally reviewing his notes for History of Magic.

_In 1921, the northern goblin tribes combined with the eastern tribes to create the Malawi Circle, which…_

Tom hardly noticed when a school owl dropped off his Daily Prophet and usual bundle of love letters.

Carelessly, he reached out, plucked the newspaper and letters from the owl's talons, and resumed eating his toast. When finished the task at hand, he turned towards the bundle of pink letters and began to dutifully go through each one.

After what seemed like eternity, he finally reached the last of the insipid cards, letting out a sigh of relief. The torture was finally over.

He grabbed it brusquely and opened the flap of the card, only to be accosted by an assortment of tiny flying cupids!

What the…

The mini- cupids flew high into the air in high pitched giggles, circling the Slytherin table and breaking out in sing-song:

_Tom Riddle is so handsome_

_Prince of the Slytherin Kingdom_

_With his wavy locks_

_And tight buttocks…_

The entire hall burst out laughing, and Tom could feel heat creeping over his cheeks. Really, this was too much. Someone had definitely gone too far!

The ridiculous song went on, however, with the cupids blowing bubbles and jets of water across the table, doing somersaults in the air and making kissing sounds.

_His feature best_

_Is his chiseled chest…_

Deciding he'd had quite enough, Tom rose to leave the Slytherin table, grabbing hold of the card and attempting to close its cover and magically seal in the incessant buggers.

However, the cupids, as if on cue, suddenly came swarming up to him, circling round his head like a halo, all the while chanting that annoyingly redundant song.

_He's got abs of steel_

_And he'd make quite a meal…_

Turning to go, Tom came face to face with a winking cupid, who blew a steady stream of water into his face.

Sputtering, he wiped his face with a sleeve and could discern the peels of laughter from his own table over the roaring, raucous, guffaws of the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, who were all clambering onto the breakfast tables to get a better view of the show.

Having done a run-through, the cupids were now repeating the song again:

_With his wavy locks_

_And tight buttocks…  
_

By now, however, whatever tolerance Tom Riddle had for the flying mockeries had come to an abrupt end. He refused to be made a fool of by some idiotic cupids- gone- wild!

Grabbing his wand from his robes, he quickly dispatched of them with one elegant swing of the arm and flick of the wrist, sending raw power in placement of a proper hex.

The cupids melted on contact with his spell, disintegrated by the sheer power of the wand.

Everyone in the Great Hall immediately stopped laughing, eyes going wide in shock at such a display, awkward silence in their wake, interrupted only by a slight cough and small clatter of silverware.

They were all anticipating the Slytherin Prefect's reaction after such a show of magic.

No doubt he was furious.

Knowing perfectly well that he couldn't afford a slip-up in front of the teachers, even though he wanted nothing more than to perform a Tracing Spell right then and there and strangle the brainless twit who had done this, Tom allowed a small, embarrassed smile to cross his features before heading off to class in a hurried manner, an immediate wave of whispers, laughs and discussion hounding his heels.

He was beyond furious. No one._ No one. _Undermined him like this.

Someone was going to pay. Dearly.

Tom Riddle was in such a rush to leave the Great Hall, that he never remembered to look over to the Gryffindor table that day, and missed the sight of a certain Gryffindor tucking a ribbon of pink lace and an edition of _How to Summon Pesky Cupids_ into her schoolbag.

_-------------------------------  
_

Tom raced out, down towards the dungeon for Potions Class. There was still a half hour till class but he had business to attend to.

He craved vengeance!

It was about time he reined in those persistent fangirls; up until now, he'd always encouraged their behaviour, convinced it only helped enhance his reputation within this school and that they were too shy to do anything too drastic and bold, however annoying, but this was the last straw.

As soon as he found out who'd done this, he was going to teach them a lesson.

_Tight buttocks, indeed. _

Tom rounded the corner of the hall and strode into the empty Potions Classroom, immediately whipping out his wand. It would only take a few seconds to perform the Tracing Charm and he was adamant that he repay the culprit as soon as humanly possible.

Whoever had done this had no idea how much damage they had done…

Pulling out the ruffly pink card from his pocket, Tom pointed his wand and shouted,

_"Vestigium rursus!" _

The room lit up with a celestial light, a ball of energy forming where his wand tip was pointed, quickly stretching and flattening out the edges of the love letter like taffy, forming a transparent canvas in its place. As if someone had pushed the on button, the screen came to life, depicting students walking past the hall just outside Tom's classroom. Like a dog sniffing for scent, the spell began moving past the dungeon corridor, searching for the smell of the card's castor.

Tom glared intensely at the screen as it led him back up the dungeon steps, around the corner, past a group of giggling Hufflepuffs, and through the double oaken doors of the Great Hall. Here, the spell seemed to halt, picking out the culprit's magic signature amidst the din. Then it bee- lined towards the Gryffindor table and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

It couldn't be...no she wouldn't… would she?

There was a crowd of Gryffindors obstructing his view of the culprit. The Tracing Spell waited for the crowd to clear.

One by one, the people moved off to class, and he finally got a clear profile of the person

_There sitting at the Gryffindor Table, small smirk playing on her lips, was none other than Jane Cacher. _

Having completed its mission, the screen of the Tracing Charm broke off into tiny, miniscule pieces, scattering into the air to nothingness, leaving a highly surprised and shocked Tom Riddle.

There was a rare expression upon his face; one even most of his followers had never seen.

And it was an expression that held many dark promises.

_------------------------  
_

Hermione pranced happily to Potions, relishing over her triumph.

That had been an excellent breakfast. She laughed again when she recalled the morning's events. It was the talk of the day, that mysterious love letter Tom Riddle received, and, of course, the song that had come with it.

The Gryffindor girl laughed gaily again. It had been a stroke of genius. That song.

Revenge personified.

She had most definitely paid him back, with interest!

Hermione wondered how long it would take Riddle to figure out it was her. No doubt not very long. But she couldn't find it in herself to care. She had wanted to prove a point to him, that she wasn't weak, that she would never allow him to push her around, and if he found out she had done it, then so be it.

He would know to never take her lightly ever again.

_Serves you right for giving me bubotuber pus, you lousy git,_ Hermione thought vindictively before flouncing into the Potions Classroom, happily humming the lyrics to the cupids' song.

She was early, and there were only a handful of students in the room.

Glancing around, she felt the uncomfortable twinge of being watched and turned to notice Riddle lounging comfortably in his seat, one leg over the over, arms crossed, wearing an unreadable expression as he regarded her.

It seemed like a certain someone had already found out who had sent him the card. Well good for him! Hermione puffed herself up, matching him eye for eye, her expression equally cool, as she walked slowly to their desk and sat down primly beside him.

He didn't say anything, did not even glance her way, only picked up his quill, scribbled a few words and slid the parchment across the table for her perusal.

She looked down to see elegantly smooth handwriting.

_Have a good breakfast? _

She could almost hear the sneer behind the words. Pulling her own quill from her bag, Hermione dipped it in ink and quickly wrote back in her small, sharp printing.

_A very good one. Although I'm sure you had a more interesting one. Quite an admirer you have there. A real poet. Or did you think of the lyrics yourself? _

She pushed the parchment back in his direction.

The effect was instantaneous; the lines of around Riddle's mouth tightened into a disgusted snarl as he read her message. He looked up at her with a glare that screamed murder, keeping eye contact as forest-green eyes shot daggers at her and he wrote back without looking,

_That trick wasn't very nice, Jane. Not at all deserving of your Gryffindor title. _

She winced when she read his words. So he was going back to that again, eh? Well, two could play this game. Feigning ignorance, she replied,

_What on earth are you talking about? _

Green eyes narrowed dangerously in response, and Hermione definitely caught a glint of red that wasn't from the lighting this time.

_Don't act the fool. It doesn't become you. I know you did it. _

_So what if I did? You were the one who provoked me. Didn't think I'd just let it lie now did you? _

She glanced up at him as he read the sentence, arching one elegant brow challengingly when he looked up.

Tom's expression became unreadable again, scribbling a few words before pushing the parchment in her direction.

_I thought I made it clear to you, mudblood, that I was not someone to toy with? You are overstepping your boundaries. _

_You made it clear to me that you were used to stepping all over people to get your way. I am not some carpet for you to tread on! You're the one overstepping the boundaries if you think I'm just going to sit here and let you walk all over me! _

He smirked at her words.

_How very brave of you…and all this merely for few words I said to you before dinner the other night…_

_You put bubotuber pus in my pocket! I still can't move my hand thanks to you! _

_Temper, Cacher. You'll poke a hole through my parchment like this. _

_Shut up! _

He smirked again, obviously enjoying this conversation- on- paper more than she was. What was it about Tom Riddle that always riled her up? She looked down to see his new message.

_But, really, all this little spectacle shows is how correct I was the other night. You're letting your Slytherin colours come through again, my dear. _

Before scribbling back furiously.

_Stop changing the subject! What I did was perfectly understandable. It had nothing to do with Gryffindor or Slytherin. This is payback for that bubotuber puss. An eye for an eye. _

He took his time writing down his next words, lingering on each stroke of the quill, the action almost sensual, looking up at her with that heart- clenching intensity in those beautiful eyes…

She barely noticed when he slipped the parchment to her side of the table again. She was too mesmerized by Riddle's angelic features. So dark and tantalizingly sweet…

_Indeed, but I thought revenge was a Slytherin concept? Didn't you Gryffindors always think yourselves above such bestiality? _

Why did he keep bring that up? Grabbing the already filled parchment, she scribbled irately in the little margin of space left,

_For the last time, Riddle, this has nothing to do with Slytherin and Gryffindor! Give it a rest! _

He only looked at her serenely before responding in a cool, soft, voice, parchment forgotten,

"Really, Cacher, how do you expect to me react? This entire plan of yours was founded upon Slytherin logic. You meant to seek vengeance upon me the same way I did yours, correct? The touch with the letter was intelligent, I'll give you that. No one would ever think of it as more than a joke or accuse you of anything. You've effectively embarrassed me before my peers and teachers, not to mention proven that you are not someone to be trifled with..."

She was impressed that he'd been able to dissect the situation so fully, but there was one thing he had forgotten.

"You wounded my pride, Tom Riddle." She hissed at him as Professor Slughorn came striding into the classroom. "You mocked my intelligence and my capabilities, and you've been playing me for a fool. First, by trying to befriend me that first week so I wouldn't tell about the duel. Then, when that didn't work, you _threatened_ me. I will _not_ be made some pawn in your game." It was her turn to smirk now. "But this is more than enough retribution. The reputation you've been trying so hard to keep spotless, your pride and joy, is dirtied now. You've lost respectability because of this. The first-years won't see you as the scary, authoritative Prefect anymore. Now, when people mention you, they'll always remember this little incident and laugh about it behind your back. You'll continue hearing about it for the next week, month, year… The gossip won't go away. People will whisper about it in every corner of the school. So you see, all that trouble you went through to keep my mouth shut was for naught. Your reputation is still damaged, even more so this way. If I had merely told about the duel, it would have only enhanced everyone's fear of you. But now, I've made you into the joke of the school, and for someone so elated on power, there's nothing worse. _You'll never live it down."_

Finishing her long speech, Hermione turned back to the front of the class, where Slughorn was currently taking attendance, and ignored Tom Riddle for the remainder of the lesson.

She smirked uncharacteristically, her own words echoing in her head.

_You'll never live it down…_

It had been the perfect revenge.

So perfect Hermione Granger hardly noticed whose smirk she was wearing.

_----------------------  
_

Tom…was impressed.

There was no other way of putting it. He was impressed. With a mudblood, no less.

He knew he should have been thirsting for her blood, wanting to rip her limb to limb, but all he could find in a vast range of emotions was…respect.

Respect for this Gryffindor who was more serpent than those in his own House, more so than even some of his followers. Respect for her cunning and wit, creativity and prowess.

It was so refreshing to have someone on the same intellectual wavelength! Someone who could follow, understand, and _appreciate_ the subtle symbolisms and deeper meanings behind each victory.

Jane Cacher had not only understood his tactics, she had beaten him at his own game, adding her own touch of rhetorical symbolism to reciprocate back at him.

_No one_ had ever beaten Tom Riddle in his own game. It had been shocking, unbelievable, and he could be nothing but in awe of her.

_No one_ had ever dared to defy him. He knew he should have been furious at her disobedience, but all thoughts of rage evaporated in face that he'd gotten his wish at long last.

He had finally found a challenge worthy of Lord Voldemort. Worthy of his cunning, his wit, his power, and intellect. Everything.

Her strike at his reputation had been ingenious; he'd be hard pressed to order students about now without them snickering behind his back for weeks to come.

She had avenged herself perfectly upon him. A perfect move in the game of chess. No risk, high rewards.

Tom felt himself more interested in Jane Cacher than he had ever been, curiosity overflowing in a cornucopia of questions.

Whatever her secrets, he was now sure he would find someone deliciously dark underneath the prim, know-it-all Gryffindor facade.

Jane Cacher had proven herself to him, and he would find a use for her, employ her many talents for his own benefit.

He felt a mixture of emotions towards the girl; curiosity, deference, acceptance, and one particular emotion he had shrewdly discerned.

It was a reaction Tom was vaguely familiar with, surfacing during that brief conversation with Cacher, where she'd openly flaunted her victory in his face, turning his own tactics against him; a sentiment Tom had always considered trivial and _human_. Weak. An emotion he'd only satisfied in times of absolute cravings.

Lust.

Oh Merlin help him, but he was aroused by that display she'd just given, using his own words against him, matching him insult for insult, barb for barb. That fiery expression gracing her features….the way her eyes lit up with fury, promising such dark potential…

Tom Riddle had always considered himself a master of his carnal cravings, understanding that some urges need and must be satisfied, but holding a strong rein over his impulses nevertheless. He was no foreigner to pleasure, using his powers of persuasion to his advantage whenever his body demanded it, able to lure any unsuspecting twit into bed whenever he wanted. He'd already had a numerous number of bed partners for his age,more than most of the boys in his House at any rate. With his flattering good looks and devilish charm, it had been easy to bend women to his will.

However, Tom seriously doubted he could persuade Cacher to go to bed with him. Not without a strong Imperious in any case.

As Slughorn droned on about the potion of the day, Tom Riddle sat languidly in his chair and plotted.

He wanted vengeance, that was a given.

But did he want _her_, as well? Did he want the mudblood, the very thing he was attempting to eradicate form the world?

He was going to use her to his advantage, that was for sure, but to what extent? Would he use her body as well as her mind? What if she were to become his follower? But that was out of the question. He always threw away the women he bedded after he got what he wanted. But what did he want? Did he even want her for a follower? She was a mudblood. Every Slytherin would repulse at the idea.

Yet she had proven herself worthy. His own observations came back to him. _More serpent than half his house…_

The bell rang. Class was over.

Tom felt a weight shift beside him and saw Jane Cacher pack up her books and head towards the door.

He immediately followed. Everything else could wait till later.

First, there was something to take care of…

_------------------------- _

Hermione quickly stuffed the spare parchment and quills into her knapsack before making a small run towards the exit of the Potions classroom.

Transfiguration was on the fifth floor and she'd have to hurry to make it to class on time. Speeding down the corridor, Hermione zipped past the large crowd of first-year students and was just about to ascend the stairs when a hand from nowhere pulled her forcefully into an empty classroom.

She whipped around to come face to face with familiar forest- green eyes, but there was an untried, almost predatory glint in them that Hermione did not like one bit.

She gulped and immediately turned to pull open the door, hand turning the door knob, only to find an arm lash out and snap the door shut with a loud and resolute thud.

Honestly, she had expected retaliation from Riddle. Just not this soon. Or in this manner…what was he playing at?

She soon found out when a voice sounded at her ear, sending shivers down her spine with its smooth, sensuous tone.

"Hello, Jane."

Hermione felt an arm wrap firmly around her waist and her breath hitched in her throat at his action. What was he doing?

She opened her mouth to speak only to be cut off again by that deep, rich voice that commanded and beckoned so effortlessly.

"I forgot to tell you something, during our conversation."

He was breathing heat into her ear, almost blowing, his body hard against her back and emitting waves of sinuous warmth…Hermione could feel herself melting, the sensation so overwhelming, so sensual and erotic…Merlin, when was the last time she felt like this?

"You seemed to have the impression, Jane, that you'd won our little game."

Those words were a douse of cold water, bringing her back to reality. Whatever he was doing to her, it was just another trick! She squirmed against him, trying to pry herself free, but like before, he easily overpowered her, pulling her closer with the one hand around her waist, knowing exactly what he was doing as he hissed heatedly against her cheek, face buried in her thick mane of hair, voice sudden deathly cold,

"This is far from over, Cacher."

Lips brushed the shell of her ear, and the fingers resting at her waist nibbled upwards, dangerously close to her breasts. Hermione was aware that her breaths were coming in gasps now.

Riddle's fingers danced over one breast, barely touching, fingertips tracing the contours of her curves, making his movements all the more sensual and arousing. His breath brushed her cheek again, a whisper so low it reverberated into her very bones, shaking her from the core as he said,

"It's only begun."

Suddenly he let his hands drop and stepped away from her, giving her freedom but making her feel all the more colder by the sudden loss of contact. She was breathless, looking at him with rose-tinted cheeks, panting breaths, eyes wide with uncertainty and question.

She noticed his pupils grow darker as he took in her state; slightly breathless himself. He seemed like he was restraining himself from some secret aspiration.

Hermione couldn't help but notice how utterly beautiful he was, features softened by the pale glow of morning, power radiating with his every movement, a small lock of ebony hair falling carelessly into his eyes.

He was so incredibly handsome…so beautiful, like an angel of her childhood stories.

She hardly noticed when he advanced on her again, only noticed the way the light glistened off his skin, the way the shadows hugged the contours of his body.

So beautiful…

Hermione hardly heard the whisper that echoed softly on the walls of the classroom, hardly heard the harsh clang of the bell, hardly cared that she was late for class.

Her thoughts were focused entirely on Him, and it was long after he was gone, that she'd realized what he had said, with more trepidation and fear, than she'd felt in a long time.

But most of all, beneath all the fear, and tangled webs of emotions she felt for Tom Riddle, there was the unbreakable wave of uncertainty at his parting words:

"You're mine."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Dear Flamers:** to the flamers who reviewed my story. Plz post something relevant to the story next time. I know I asked for criticism but I also asked for constructive ones, not comments such as "turd, sucks, boring etc." If you don't like something, voice your opinion but also say WHY you do not like it. And I would appreciate it if you did it in a more respectful, and courteous manner or at least refrain from derogative comments such as the above stated.I'd also like to remind you that authors on fanfiction write stories for feedback, but we do not necessarily have to post them on this website if we are being harassed for it. So, if you continue, I will simply take this story off the net and you can find someone else to bother. Thank-you.

**To everyone else:** I hope you liked the chapter! remember to read and review!

Luv, selenoliber


	8. Nightmares

**AN:** I'm sorry this chapter took so very long, but life has been hectic lately and I hit a very bad drout of writer's block. Hopefully that won't happen again from now on.

But WOW. I can't believe I got THAT many reviews for chapter 7. Thank-you all sooo much! It really means alot and I have to say that it was the reviews which really pulled me through to finish this chapter.So, I think some thank-yous are in order:

First off, let me thank **puresilver**, the beautiful, lovely, absolutely fantastic beta of mine who is just so so so good. I agree with your email about me finding my sadistic side. Li'fe been so hard lately that it's been really hard to write happy things when all I want to do is break something. This...was an outlet. Albeit a scary one. One that I completely freaked myself out with, mind you. Thanks a million for everything!

Also, thanks to **MandaPandaAR**, who helped me pull through my writer's block with some of her excellent fanfics and good advice and comfort. Thanks so much, hun!

Thanks also goes out to **amrawo, Lady Gwenevere Smith, HorseloverTW, Faye, Sam, hpfanf, Miranda, witchcatmagic, Maeve18, Hannah-Freya, jip91, sweet-witch, deena, BlackNeonTears, hanyu, SilverTears11, anni, mrs skywalker, vla1diva, invictus noctis, nothingmatters, pyromaniac102, Lupin's Furry Little Problem, DeannaM, lovin potter, Victor Krun's lazy llama101, Lady Eborcrest, MetallicHiss, bumblebee115, blairwitch.17, livtje, shh...it's a secret, Smile For Me, Tom Riddle's Reluctant Bride, mirr99sna. **

**Warnings: This chapter is VERY DARK, CONTAINS R-RATED SCENES, AND HAS FREAKY PSYCHOLOGICAL BABBLE I WOULD USUALLY IGNORE.**

You have all been warned.

---------------------------------------------

**Chapter 8: Nightmares**

_You're mine. _

She was wrapped in a cloak of darkness, eyes blind, arms flailing uselessly in the vast nothingness. Instinctively, she knew that she was falling, falling into an endless black abyss with no bottom.

_You're mine._

Vaguely, she spoted a dim prick of light over her head, in the distance, growing stronger.

Stronger.

And suddenly, everything came to life in a rush of blinding white light, the darkness fading. She no longer falls towards that abyss, her feet hitting the ground, the grass wet beneath them.

_You're mine. _

She finds herself running. Running away? Or chasing someone? She doesn't know.

Only that she's close. There is a dark shape ahead of her, the image coming clearer with each step she takes.

But try as she may, she can't seem to make out who it is. She reaches out, hand groping, only to grab thin air.

Two twin voices twine together in speech, a collective summoning hovering throughout the cemetery. A deadly duo of hisses and whispering. One beckoning, pleading, the other commanding, forceful.

One voice. _Find it. _

What? Find what? She asks desperately, working madly to find logic in this nonsensical world of undertones.

Another voice.

_You're mine._

Whose? No one replies to her entreating; instead, the whispers and hissing grow louder, faster, spoken in tandem one after the other.

_Find it. You're mine. Find it. You're mine. Find. Mine. Find. Mine. _

_Find._

_Mine. _

It was a battle, the words mingling and intermixing until it became a chant, some kind of corrupt ritual. And she was caught, a fly amidst its web; held midpoint in a battle of wills. Though, who's will, she could not guess.

Hermione tries to respond, ask more questions, look for answers, but the scenery is already shifting away before she can find strength to utter a sound, quickly warping, like some strange odyssey, leaking away like paint dripping down walls.

Soon, the chanting ebbs, leaving behind a solitary voice.

_Mine. _

Someone has won whatever game she'd just been part of. The purgatory scene of the cemetery faded rapidly; Hermione stared, transfixed, as the headstone in front of her was instantly replaced by trickling beads of acrylic.

She reached out tentatively, a small, delicate hand brushing the newly forming walls, the warm liquid soaking into her fingertips and palm as she pulls away to inspect it.

The liquid is surprisingly thin, Hermione noted. Too thin to be paint.

Inquisitively, she brings a finger to her mouth, giving a hesitant lick, and freezes. What could it be? Eyes going wide, guts wrenching, terror clenching at her lungs, making it hard to breath. She feels a coldness like none other, seep through her very bones as realization dawns.

Blood.

The walls were covered with blood.

Hermione looked down at her crimsoned palm in silent horror, no words able to escape her, mouth dry.

She felt a warm drip on her shoulder and then another on her head, then her arms/font

Petrified, Hermione looked up and screamed at what she saw.

Corpses. Pale, white skinned corpses with vacant black holes for eyes, the eyeballs melted and dripping onto her arms, her legs, her head and face...

They were hanging from the new formed ceiling, oozing and leaking sluggish lines of blood, bodies ripped open, the remnants seeping off the ribs like butchered meat.

She clenches up her eyes and screamed again, but they didn't go away, rather the opposite, seemingly drawn to her agony, as slimy, oozing, rotting hands slowly reached out towards her menacingly?

She screamed and screamed, batting away their arms, her efforts futile as more and more slushy, dripping wet, rotting hands grabbed onto her, hulling her down.

She was sinking, sinking into the blood, into the rotting flesh.

No, no, no.

Nonononononono.

She flails her arms helplessly, reaching out for something, anything, but she keeps sinking, hands still pulling her in, frantically, like they're eating at her, ravenous for more. She can feel the slimy hands on her legs, her thighs, her stomach, her neck, clawing and scratching.

Above her, the corpses are smiling, sadistic grins planted upon their faces. Something slides out from within a rotting mouth; a green snake.

It looks at her with dark eyes, opening its jaws, and Hermione has just enough time to incline her head as the snake spits something towards her.

It lands on her cheek, a cool substance amidst the sickening warmth of blood, and for a moment, the hands pulling at her stop, lying dormant, as if waiting for something to happen, a break before the storm.

Hermione looks up at the snake, confused. What was happening?

Then she spots the others; two other twining serpents slithering out from some dark crevasse of the bleeding ceiling. They too slink towards her, brother and sister, one dark, green stripes running down its back; the other white, blonde streaks of colour lining its sides.

Like the green snake, the others are dripping some dark substance from their slackened jaws. The substance falls onto her, as they come to a stop, hovering above her, eyes also intent upon her face, as if they were cognitive.

_What is it? _Hermione wonders. _This substance. _

No time to ponder. She hears surreptitious hisses, so faint she barely catches the words…

_Mud…blood…_

As if on signal, the hands are pulling at her again, their efforts renewed with a feverish strength, wanting to claim her as one of the dead. The snakes continue drooling on her, with that strange cold substance, though the green one does not join in, choosing to gaze at her instead with those dark eyes, eyes with swirls of red, and blue and green.

_Mud…blood…mud…blood_

_The chanting is stronger, louder as the hands pulling harder, tighter, ripping at her robes._

No! She screams, or tries, as her screams are muffled by the gurgling sounds of choking, as one decaying, melting hand reaches out and covers her mouth, filling her throat with blood and grime.

_No! _

_Mud…blood…mud…blood_

The cool substance on her face is mud, she realizes with sudden horror. She was going to die, all covered in mud and blood.

_Mudblood…mudblood…_

Hermione reaches out, her hand groping for leverage, anything to pull her to safety. There's nothing. Nothing but the hands, and the mud, and gore. It's everywhere! She can't escape!

_Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood…_

Above the crescendo of the chant, she hears one parting thought before the hands pull her under, into the quicksand of death and darkness.

_Mine. _

More pulling. Hands ribbing at her flesh now, teeth gnawing at her skin; she can't breathe, can't speak, can't…

_Mudblood...mudblood..._

_No, no, no!_

_NONONONO! _

"NO! NO!" Hands clench her arms tightly, painfully.

"What the bloody hell is going on?"

"Someone stop her!"

"Someone Stun her!"

"Cacher! Cacher! Wake up."

A hand is slapping her cheek. Hermione pushes it away, she has to get away, get away from the hands!

"Nononononono!"

"Jane!" Someone called in a stern yet calmly familiar tone into her ear.

Hermione went still, breath hitching convulsively, eyes opening to peer into the steady gaze of obsidian eyes, whose hands were clamped unto her shoulders firmly. She realizes that she's back in the Gryffindor Girls Dormitory; all the other girls clambered around her, looking sleepy, mussed, and worried.

"Alright everyone! Back to your beds!" The person who held her called to the others, head turned towards the other occupants in the room, so Hermione couldn't make out who she was.

Once her orders were obeyed, the girl turned back towards Hermione, giving a reassuring smile and comfortingly stroking her hair. She spoke.

_An outwardly stern voice_, Hermione mused, grateful to be away from that hellhole of a nightmare. _Stern, but with an underlying softness_. "You alright, Cacher?"

Hermione let out a breath and froze.

It was Minerva McGonagall.

_--------------------------------------- _

"Harder, Tom! Harder!"

Her pelvis grinded against him uncontrollably. He hauled her against his lean, sensuous body; hands grabbing her hips deftly, moving in steady, skillful motions, handsome features panting in lust.

One skillful hand cupped her chin in a vice grip before pulling her towards her in a ferocious kiss which left her gasping for breath. Her head flew back against the cushion as she screamed "harder" yet again, her entire body begging to be ravished.

Her hands raked through his hair, pulling him closer towards her and he latched onto a soft, creamy mould of breast, kissing and nipping his way around it, tongue darting out occasionally to flick at the taut nipple. She cried again in pleasure, his name on her lips.

It sounded so good, coming from her, the wretched name he'd come to hate.

He plunged into her again, eliciting another guttural moan, as she lashed out towards him, hips meeting his at every thrust, gasping like a two-knut slut.

His hands found her curly, bushy locks and he pulled on them ruthlessly, exposing her throat to his onslaught of tongue and lips, mixing pain with pleasure. Another thrust, another wave of moans, and Tom felt himself on the brink.

He looked down into her face, meeting her chocolate brown eyes, hands lingering at her collar bone, gently smoothing over the skin.

Almost there. Just a few more thrusts. He moved faster, increased his pace as she met him at each stroke, moaning and whimpering for his touch. His hand tightened round her throat and she gasped, caught between surprise and pleasure.

Almost.

There.

Another thrust, and his hand tightened again, unwilling to loosen its hold. He needed to get there. Almost. There.

She was clawing at his hand now, fingernails slashing long red welts along his hands and arms. Clawing madly.

But he would not relinquish his hold.

Almost there. Thrust. In, out. In, out. He had to get there. He'd worked so hard. This was what he'd been waiting for, his entire life. And Tom wasn't sure if this was about his climax or something else anymore.

All he knew was that he had to get there. And nothing would stop him.

Another harder thrust. Harder.

The frantic claws were slowing down now, as his pace increased and he could feel himself giving way. So close now.

And then, with a blinding backlash of white, he came; euphoria washing over him, and dimly, in the back of his mind, Tom registered that the body beneath him was no longer moving. Was cold.

He looked down, still dazed from estasy, into a pair of empty eyes. Into Jane Cacher's empty, vacant eyes; and he screamed in horror.

_It couldn't be. It just couldn't. They were **always** faceless girls. Trash. _

He kept screaming, the sound carrying its voice outside the realm of dreams and into awakening, as Tom bolted upright in his bed, eyes wide with shock and head beaded with cold sweat, frantically trying to calm his erratic nerves.

Tom Riddle was not a boy easily intimated, but at that moment, he felt two cold, gripping fears simultaneously creeping upon him, and he honestly did not know which he feared more.

The thought of Jane in his dreams and underneath his body... or the thought of having her dead, at his hands.

--------------------------------------------------------

Ok, so what did you think? In my defense, you were warned.

All I can say is that I was very, very, very drunk or on drugs when I wrote this, but it's Tr/Hg, so dark!fic is expected.

Also, I got complaints from some readers that I shouldn't add in too much comedy since the story did not begin so.

Um..all I can say, guys, is that different readers will tend to like different things. I will try my best to balance out the dark and angsty with the light and comedic, plus the romance/smutty parts. You got a bit of the latter from the last chapter, so this one was uber dark.

If you want one theme more than the other, plz tell me so! I like experimenting with my writing but feedback on this kind of stuff would be great.

As for the pychological reasoning behind Tom and nightmare...most of you will probably figure it out. You're all smart cookies. But if any of you need an explanation as to why I wrote it, well, I'll post my reasons next chapter.

Love you all bunches!

-Selenoliber

ps. thanks to whoever commented on my lj a while ago. I did reply to you, even if it was a little late, but I dedicate this chapter to you! Whoever you are, you're the best! And thanks for giving me encouragement during my writer's block.


	9. Reflections and Turning Tides

**Tempora Mutantur**

**AN: **hello all! I'm sorry this chpater took such a long time yet again but life's been very busy lately and I just can't find the time to write.

**Thanks to puresilver for beta-ing this draft! I hope your internet gets better! As always, you are more than awesome! **

**Now to my wonderful readers! **

**Thank-you to: megami, Mrs Pierre Bouvier, MandaPandaAR, puresilver, amrawo, Maeve18, vla1diva, Tom Riddle's Reluctant Bride,** **madthegrlw/thecoolst...** ,** Sandy** , **LaNi-GoLDfiSh, lolaleddir, Isolated Mind, rentjunkie525 , BlackNeonTears, Ariadne, pyromaniac102,** **cdlowe8, adarsha, gisse, mandi, janelle, EriEka127, Schermione. **

**madthegrlw/thecoolst... : **yes, I know, I know, boy do I know. But the plot is necessary is all I can say. I promise, promise, promise you that the next chapter will be filled with smutty goodness!

**Sandy:** well, I hope this chapter will answer some of your questions. Ron and Harry will filter in later in the next few chapters. Don't worry, I didn't forget them. They play a big part in the coming chapters. And yes, there will be more weasleys.

**pyromaniac102:** "so is hermione gonna do the same thing as tom like corner him in an empty classroom whisper sweet nothings into his ear and like touch him every so slightly then whisper 'your mine' in his ear then walk away you know turn the tables on him"

hmm...great idea! unfortunately, no she isn't doing that...yet. but you know hermione...i'm sure she'll think of _something _to get back Tom...

**Maeve18: **lol. to tell you the truth, the end of chapter 7 was my favourite part too, and if I have any say in it, there will definitely be more on the way. most likely in the next chapter. god sometimes I want to say "to hell with plot!" and just stick to smutty romance.

**cdlowe8:** thank-you so much darling! your comment made me squee. I'm glad you liked the last chapter. I was a bit apprehensive about it. And thank-you for your comments about balancing the themes. It was very helpful.

Ok. so without further ado, here's chapter 9. And yes. I promise to you all that there will be more Tom/Hermione action soon.

* * *

**Reflections and Turning Tides**

The break of dawn was a magnificent sight to behold on the high ranges of Hogwart's epical grounds.

From the edge of the forest, one could usually watch as the sunlight grazed over the high towers and set the ancient school into a silhouette of shadow and mystery amidst the fresh smell of morning.

Today, however, something was amiss on the edge of the Forbidden Forest…

"Hurry up!"

"We're almost done!"

"You sure this is the right place?"

"Yes!"

"You sure they said…?"

"Yes! See the red mark? Now, let's finish this before we're caught! Ogg will be here any moment!"

On usual mornings, the Forbidden Forest smelt of many exotic scents: the tangy sting of flowers and fruits, the dewy freshness of plants and herbs, the distinct and biting odour of wildlife; but on this day, on this morning, there was something else intermingled with all these pungent aromas, a presence like none other.

It was the smell, the feel…of magic.

Of Black Magick.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"…_I'm sorry, Hermione. We'll have to think of some other way."_

Hermione walked down the corridor, Dumbledore's words from earlier that morning still ringing inside her head.

"_It seems your stay here will have to be prolonged."_

True to his word, Dumbledore had contacted the Ministry in an attempt to acquire any time travelling device which might return her to her rightful era. They both knew it had been fruitless from the beginning. Time Travel hadn't begun to develop until the late 1950s, but Hermione knew the old man was desperate to have her go back.

He'd been hounding her for the past few weeks about her "independent study project", which was a guise for her research on time travel. Hermione had tried to explain her situation to him several times, how going back was no different than digging a grave, how he would be forcing her into the mercy of a monster.

But the Dumbledore would hear nothing of it. He had his principles to consider.

"_You must go back, Miss Granger. It is your duty."_

_Wouldn't want to rip the fabric of time, _Hermione thought snidely as she rounded the corner. _Does he really think I'll return to a future where only death awaits me, just because **he** tells me to? _

Truth be told, it surprised her a great deal how she could think so deploringly of a man who had once been her saviour and inspiration. Hermione had studiously learned everything she could about Albus Dumbledore, the greatest sorcerer who ever lived, in her first year at Hogwarts.

It was the primary reason she'd wanted to be sorted into Gryffindor; to follow in his footsteps, to be a _somebody, make a difference_.

But many things had changed since she'd first arrived here and the Dumbledore of this era no longer resembled the professor of old who had favoured Harry and Ron and herself above all others.

To be sure, the man himself had changed very little. No. Rather, it was the circumstance which had changed, and herself. To Dumbledore, she was no longer 'best friend of Harry Potter' or 'brightest witch of the year'.

She was now 'one of the crowd', a plain nobody.

Hermione was suffering the effects of a life without Dumbledore's constant favouritism. It was the first time in her life that she'd allowed herself to see 'the greatest sorcerer who lived' in another, certainly less amiable, light.

She could now understand the resentment some students had always felt towards 'The Golden Trio' (as they'd sarcastically termed them) during her years at Hogwarts.

How many times had Harry and Ron broken the rules and escaped expulsion? That certainly hadn't been the case with Gregory Hanes, she recalled.

Dumbledore cared more about his principles than for her life because she _wasn't important. _She was no Harry Potter, destined to save the world. She was the help, the aid, someone who was dispensable for 'the greater good.' Hermione thought back to when Dumbledore had hid the prophecy's tale from Harry at the risk of thousands of lives and expense of Sirius' life. Dumbledore had sacrificed Sirius for Harry's peace of mind. Of course, it had been a miscalculation, no one had expected _Sirius _to die, but _still_, Dumbledore had been prepared to sacrifice thousands of lives…

Would he now do the same to her to assuage his own troubles, his principles?

As she rushed through the corridor towards the Great Hall for lunch, Hermione wondered just how many other aspects of the 'Light' side she'd been blind to all her life. She wondered if the 'justice and good' she'd been fighting for --if it was really _true_ justice? Wasn't the Ministry a lesser evil to Voldemort? Wasn't Fudge also a puritan in his own right? And Scrimgeour? Didn't he manipulate those around him as liberally as Voldemort himself? He'd certainly tried to use Harry.

Hermione knew that it was dangerous to question her own beliefs, to question her Gryffindor foundations, but she really couldn't help it. Not when these 'beliefs' were threatening her very existence. What were freedom and justice anyway? What were "right and wrong"? Was Dumbledore_ right _in sending her back before they faced time distortion, even if the action would cost him her life? Was the possibility of avoiding time alteration worth a human life? Was she _wrong_ in wanting to stay in this era, to avoid death? Should she sacrifice herself for only a possibility of what might occur?

_The old Hermione would have, _she thought wryly._ Without a doubt._

But what of the new Hermione? The battle-torn, emotionally scarred, cynically bitter Hermione?

As she pushed open the double doors and headed for the Gryffindor table for lunch, her mind skimmed across the last warning Dumbledore had issued her.

"_Stay away from Tom Riddle."_

The boy was dangerous, that she knew. Yet Hermione felt an irresistible pull towards him, nevertheless. Memories of their last encounter resurfaced.

_You're mine._

She shivered. That boy affected her more than she cared to admit. It was yet another test of her beliefs.

How far could she go with the future Dark Lord without getting emotionally involved? It was a dangerous game she was playing with him, Hermione knew. Tom Riddle was no longer simply toying with her. The warning he gave the other day had been testament to that fact.

…_fingers danced over one breast, barely touching, fingertips tracing the contours of her curves, making his movements all the more sensual and arousing. His breath brushed her cheek again, a low whisper…._

_"It's only begun." _

She knew she could do nothing now.

She was trapped in a box of her own making, having unconsciously challenged the future Dark Lord to a duel of intellect and cunning without ever intending to. It had been foolish, but Hermione found that she could not regret her actions.

How could she, when this was the most stimulating challenge she'd ever encountered?

How could she hate what she'd longed for all her life? An intellectual equal. Someone who wouldn't laugh at her for knowing the hundred cures of Dragon Blood or the 13 Amendment Acts of the East Goblin Tribe.

How could she possibly give it all up now?

She remembered back to the Sorting Hat's words:

_There is one other in Slytherin House, whom you've already met, who could help you greatly, in more ways than one. You would meet your match there, meet the challenge you've so desperately wanted in school, in your own time…_

Could she bear to do it? Give it up? Her perfect challenge? The ultimate riddle for her inquiring mind?

Hermione laughed inwardly. Ironic. Under different circumstances, she might have seriously fallen in love with Tom Riddle. He was everything she'd ever dreamed of in a boyfriend since childhood.

Intelligent, charming, incredibly good looking…It was a shame he had to turn out as a Dark Lord, try to take over the world and kill off all her friends and family. It really was a shame…

"Jane!"

Minerva McGonagall was waving at her from one end of the Gryffindor table. Since the night of the horrid nightmare, she and Minerva had become friends. The Gryffindor Prefect had stayed until morning comforting her, even sneaking food from the kitchen for a small private feast. The two girls might have only talked for the first time that night, but come morning, each had found a kindred spirit in the other.

They were both intelligent, determined women, and though Hermione thought it a little disconcerting to see the younger version of her future Professor, she embraced the newly found friendship with open arms.

It was good to see a familiar face. The Professor McGonagall of her own time had died from torture of Cruciatus at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange.

The two weeks that Tom had been assigned to Hermione as a guide were long past, and Minerva, who held a girlish affection for the handsome boy, could now freely interact with her friend "Jane" without the presence of a certain Slytherin.

"So what did you think of today's DADA lesson? I was…"

Hermione smiled warmly before seating herself.

Yes, many things had changed. New friendships were being formed while old ones broken, and as Dumbledore's words came back to her mind again,

"_Stay away from Tom Riddle."_

Hermione knew, that whatever her decision, Dumbledore's opinion would play no role in it whatsoever.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Tom sat at the edge of the table, carelessly taking a bite from his barely touched plate, lost in a whorl of thoughts, mostly on the person across the room.

_Her. _

It had been a full week since the dream, and Tom still couldn't clean it from his mind.

In fact, it had only gotten worse, both his need and desire to kill. Every night now, he would awake in a cold sweat, with thoughts of Cacher coursing through his mind. _Dead Cacher, a Cacher crying out in ecstasy…him strangling Cacher, making her scream…screaming in horror…screaming in pleasure…_

It was driving him insane.

Planning to use the girl was one thing, but this, _this _was...he didn't know what it was. But Tom knew that he needed a solution. Fast.

This girl, this _mudblood_, was becoming a weakness, and Lord Voldemort did not need weaknesses.

He had to get rid of her, get her out of his system, but short of killing her, Tom had no idea what to do. He had never felt this way before. And though he masked it well, sneered at her whenever she passed in the hallway, the feeling, that twist in the stomach, was always there every time he was in her presence.

Lust.

The double-edged sword. He smiled at the irony. After all, hadn't it been him, Tom Riddle, who'd used the same lust to bend females whichever way he chose?

This was not supposed to be happening.

He was Lord Voldemort. He. Would. Not. Be Weak. He couldn't afford to. Not when the foundations of his future empire were still being built; not when he still needed his Death Eaters to perform that final step…that step which would bind them forever…make them his eternal slaves…the stupid Purebloods. He'd show them. He would finally pay them back; pay them all back for those taunts in first grade, about his blood, his background, his lack of wealth.

Lord Voldemort did not forget. And he _never _forgave. _They will pay with double the humiliation and thrice the pain,_ Tom thought with a smile, barely able to contain his glee.

Of course, Aldous might be spared his share of his plans, _if_ that is, he performed to plan. Black had a very special assignment on his hands, one he'd leapt at the chance of.

It involved a Gryffindor and a certain conversation Tom had overheard this morning, after Transfiguration.

Needless to say, anything Dumbledore had to say to the girl would spark an interest…but this…well…

flashback

_Tom raced back towards the classroom, reprimanding himself for forgetting the damn textbook. His hand was on the doorknob when he heard the whispers, spoken furiously:_

"_You must go back, Miss Granger. It is your duty."_

"_But Professor, you don't understand! They'll kill me! He-I have no place in that-"_

"_You have no place here, either. Do not fool yourself into believing that this is your home. Think of the dangers. You belong **there** and you must return. At any cost."_

_The bitterness in the next few words uttered shocked him, as he realized whom Dumbledore was speaking to. _

"_Even my life?"_

"_There is no way of knowing that you'll-"_

"_I'm telling you, Professor! There's no hope. Please… please…don't send me back…I can't…I can't…"_

_The voice was quiet now, soft and quivering. A plea._

_One Dumbledore was apparently immune to. _

"_I'm sorry, Miss Granger. It's too dangerous. I cannot take the risk."_

_There was silence, then the sudden scuffling of parchment being pushed into a knapsack and the sound of approaching footsteps towards the door from the other side._

_Tom backed up in shock, knowing she'd be out the door any second when—_

"_One more thing, Miss Granger."_

_He didn't stay to hear Dumbledore's last comments to Cacher, sprinting up the hallway and towards his next class, mind running rampant with questions at this sudden new development. _

_What was going on? What were Jane and Dumbledore discussing? _

_And why on earth had Dumbledore referred to her as "Miss Granger"?_

These were the questions whirling in his mind as Tom once more took a bite of his cold lunch.

Black was going to get him the answers. His life depended on it. Quite literally.Aldous knew the price of failure. For all the pain of punishment, death would be preferable.

But the problem wasn't even that conversation, or the dreams. Lust and curiosity he could deal with. It was the stupid damn girl!

As much as he tried to ignore her, she stood out at every turn. Though they never spoke, she did not fade into the background as he'd expected either. Oh no. Instead, she'd decided to challenge him by equalling, yes _equalling_, his grades. If nothing else, Tom was furious about this single fact.

No one ever beat Tom Riddle in academic prowess. No one.

But Cacher hadn't been satisfied with only matching him academically. She'd also befriended Minerva McGonagall, Gryffindor Prefect. The two were now always chattering down the halls, always together, so that Tom could never sneak in a good hex at her. That would have done it, solved his misery. A good hex which sent her to the deserts of Africa…

Befriending McGonagall had also introduced Cacher to the inner circle of Gryffindors and if nothing else, Tom had to marvel at Jane Cacher's cunning and ability.

It had taken him two years to gain the trust of his own House members, two years before they openly acknowledged his power and Slytherin heritage. This girl had done it in less than 3 weeks since her arrival. Of course, Gryffindor was a House of idiots and morons, but, nevertheless, Cacher had managed to make friends, even against his best endeavours to keep her alone and singular for the first two weeks of her arrival here.

Then, of course, there was his revenge to consider. No, he hadn't forgotten about that.

Tom wanted it to be special_, really special_, for all the pain and misery Cacher was inflicting upon him, however unconscious.

Phase one was already complete, he thought with a smirk, as she gulped down her pumpkin juice from across the hall, happily replying to whatever McGonagall had to say.

It was only a matter of waiting for the right time to pounce…

His next class was Care of Magical Creatures, with Cacher. As he saw her stand up and leave the Great Hall, Tom leisurely followed.

They were partners for the project assigned by Professor Gubblyplank, which involved exploring a relatively safe part of the Forbidden Forest for witch-hazel leaves used in Hypnosis.

Jane and Tom had found a patch already, relatively deep into the forest, and their task today would be simple retrieval of the leaves.

As he followed her over the hill towards Ogg's hut for class, Tom thought vindictively about his plot for vengeance. She was going to regret she ever crossed his path and crept herself into his thoughts.

It was all her fault, this newly found weakness of his. He hated her. She was contaminating him with her weakness. With her dirty mudblood lineage. How on earth had muggles produced such a brilliant witch anyways?

Tom watched as her bushy hair slowly disappeared over the hill, and amused himself by taking out the vial of potion in his knapsack. The key to his revenge.

A tiny drop would suffice. He was going to have his perfect revenge…perfect…and he was going to—

A sudden high-pitched scream in the direction Cacher had headed bolted him from his thoughts.

Tom looked up in alarm and saw the eerie glow of green. It couldn't be…

But it was. And as he raced towards the looming green smoke, Tom wondered who on earth could have triggered _that _spell. And more importantly, _why_.


	10. Breaking Point

**Tempora Mutantur**

**AN:** sorry about the long absence guys! I know it's been a long time! Chapter 10 is finally here though and I'm happy to say I've found some direction to take the plot again. Thank god. For those of you who know, I've had ALOT of trouble writing up ch 10. So yes. Here is it.

**Thank-you to my reviewers: amrawo, vla1diva, Tom Riddle's Reluctant Bride** , **Isolated Mind, ****EriEka127, Schermione, Victor Krun's lazyllama101, HorseLoverTW, LadyGwenevereSmith, cdlowe8, lavya0393, hanyu, Alseid, Hannah- Freya, w1cked-angel, Lady Softball, Sophiax, san01, Laura, lily1121, hatami, botomlessheart, maureen, roguesolus. **

**Thank-you all so much for reviewing! I love you guys!**

**Schermio****ne:** Ogg, I think, was the Hogwarts groundskeeper before Hagrid. He was mentioned in the books by Molly Weasley during her school days.

**v1lad1va:** I'll try to give you a happy ending, darling, but it's hard since the ship is Tom/Hermione so there's bound to be SOME angst and dark stuff.

**cdlowe8:** you have to be one of my smartest reviewers! You always catch onto the clues! Just which ones I'm not saying yet, but yes, they do play some role in the future.

**Special thanks to: **

**puresilver:** Thank you so much for beta-ing. And so prompt too! hugz

**MandaPandaAR:** thanx so much for your advice and encouragement hon! I couldn't have done this w/o you! My muse!

**Sophiax:** Thank you, thank you for your advice! I'm making a mental note of everything you told me! Hopefully there will be no more writer's block in the future! hehe. Thanks again!

**This chapter is dedicated to you guys!**

* * *

**Breaking Point.**

Hermione awoke in a haze, eyelids fluttering open to the bright lights and loud voices filtering in and out around her in a cacophony of noise and clatter.

Her head throbbed as if someone had flung a bludger to her skull.

Forcing herself to focus, Hermione faintly heard a feminine voice and made out a flash of familiar white before her vision blurred once more. Her head was swimming in a myriad of dull aches to heavy, stabbing pains shooting through her temples.

Above the searing pain of her splitting headache, she could just make out a conversation between the female and another occupant within the room.

"—But how could anyone do this, Albus? This sort of magic…and in school…"

Suddenly, the day's events flashed across her mind and everything came into focus. Hermione found herself bolting upright, her immediate instincts telling her to defend, as she relived her previous experience.

_She walked over the hill, searching for the grove where the witch hazel leaves had been. She'd only just rounded the corner when a flash of green had streaked out from behind one of the trees. _

_Another spell followed the previous, whizzing towards her with deadly accuracy. _

_Hermione had just enough time to dodge both attacks, deftly reaching for her hand and countering both spells with two of her own. _

_Her heart raced. Had those been the Killing Curse? _

_Then without warning, the ground gave way beneath her, and she was tumbling down into a dark abyss, scraping against rock as she fell. Her head hit the rocky bottom with a loud thud, her body battered from the fall. Trying to get up, she found herself unable to move, her arm burning in tremendous pain at the slightest movement. A green smoke hovered above her, smothering her breaths. _

_She couldn't breathe. _

_The last thing Hermione heard were a chorus of high-pitched giggles and the word she'd come to hate more than anything in the world. _

_"Mudblood."_

_Then she faded into oblivion. _

Hermione shivered at the reminder, caught by the inescapability of her fate. No matter where she was, it followed her around like a plague. That word. The root of every loss she'd ever sustained.

Off in the corner, Dumbledore and the nurse seemed to have noticed that Hermione had awakened, and both rushed over to her side, the nurse fawning over her recumbent form.

"Oh, my dear! You're finally awake! Thank goodness! No major injuries, of course, just a broken arm that was easily fixed, but I dare say your nerves were frazzled, falling from such a height. How on earth that ground could have given way I'll never know. Ogg never said anything about there being a _cave_ in the Forbidden Forest."

"No, Beatrice, it was no cave." Dumbledore's tone was solemn, with an underlying edge as he gazed upon Hermione. "That pit was carved from magic. This was no accident. Someone _wanted _Miss Cacher to fall."

Hermione gulped uncomfortably. Seeing Dumbledore brought back memories of their last meeting.

He'd told her to go home and she'd refused. Now, this had happened, and it was plainly no accident.

Again, the penetrating gaze rested upon her.

"I don't suppose you have any clue who did it, Jane?"

And there it was. The underlying steel.

Hermione automatically looked down, shaking her head. Whoever it was, she wouldn't tell him. It would only give him another reason to expedite her return home. She'd rather face breaking her arm a thousand times than be sent back to that Hell of a future.

Sighing sadly at Hermione's reluctance to co-operate, Dumbledore quickly turned to have a few quick words with the nurse, obviously wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

Hermione watched him go with a calm wistfulness, her lip curled in a wry smile.

Of course he wouldn't stay. She wasn't Harry. Not important, that's what she was. Just another student, not worth his time, especially now that she'd rejected his counsel.

But she made more important matters to attend to. Like who had done this to her, for example. One name quickly jumped out at her.

_Riddle. _

He'd said he wanted revenge.

Well, he'd sure gotten it, Hermione thought bitterly. Again, Dumbledore's warning came to mind.

_Stay away from Tom Riddle. _

She hated when she was wrong. Yet, this 'incident'…it wasn't Tom Riddle's style. All of their encounters had been more intellectual than physical, a battle of wills and minds over physical or magical ability.

Unwittingly, she thought back to that time in the classroom when he'd…

_Lips brushed the shell of her ear, and the fingers resting at her waist nibbled upwards, dangerously close to her breasts-- _

Hermione shook her head, unwilling to think of _that_ anymore. He wouldn't hurt her…not after…well… _that…_would he?

Then she scoffed at her own naivety. Of course he would.

Tom Riddle was a selfish, evil, conniving bastard well on his way to becoming a Dark Lord. He had no heart. He felt no remorse, and he definitely did not care for trivial human pursuits such as emotions.

Why would he even bat an eyelash for hurting her? He wasn't human, no matter how much he looked it.

Hermione suddenly felt foolish for falling prey to his good looks. Hadn't she always hated girls who fell head over heels for boys with a pretty face? And here she was, doing exactly the same!

Thinking back Hermione wondered how she could have _ever _felt attracted to him.

Sure, he was incredibly handsome and by far the most intelligent person she'd ever met, but he was still merciless, ruthless to a point and utterly dangerous.

Some part of her mind screamed at her. _But he's your equal! The challenge you've always wanted. Every— _

But Hermione stamped on that tiny voice and pushed it aside.

It was time to be rational.

Tom Riddle had just made an attempt on her life.

Nothing had changed. She was sent here to kill him. She had to do it. Perhaps being here too long had made her lose sight of her goals, but her ultimate mission was to kill him.

He was dangerous, and he'd just proven it to her.

It was him or her. One of them would have to die. One of them would have to lose.

And Hermione refused to be on the losing side again.

The future would not repeat itself.

* * *

It wasn't until the next day that the nurse let Hermione out of the Hospital Wing, insisting that she catch up on rest and that she care for her 'health before school.' 

But Hermione had bigger plans than health or school. She needed to murder the future Dark Lord, and she would do it.

There would be no more delays. Her resolve would not be shaken this time. She was going to kill him and save the Wizarding World from that human plague that would ravage society and tear apart families for more than two decades.

All day Hermione waited for her chance, looking for an opening, some moment when he would be alone with no soul in sight.

The moment came after dinner.

Tom had finished his plate quickly, excused himself from the Slytherin Table and slipped quietly out the Great Hall entrance without a sound.

No one even noticed him leave except Hermione, and she quickly followed him, packing up her own bags, saying a quick good-bye to Minerva and heading out the double doors after him.

Hermione made it out just in time to see the tails of his robes disappear up the Astronomy Tower stairs. Fingering, the wand in her pocket, she stealthily followed him.

The night air was cool, the tops of the Astronomy Tower still covered in light trails of snow. Tom Riddle stood gazing out towards the horizon, arms resting lightly on the stone ledge of the castle walls, tufts of hair mussed and falling carelessly out of place.

The moonlight accentuated his pale skin, making it glow to an ethereal luminescence, unearthly and oddly fragile.

As Hermione came upon the scene, her breath caught in her throat and she found her resolve melting under the heat of such exquisite beauty again. He seemed so much like an angel, shrouded by darkness, and Hermione felt the strange urge to save him from that darkness, to pull him into the light where he belonged.

Yet, as Tom turned to face her, his eyes glinting the darkest obsidian, she knew instinctively that he was no creature of the light. Here was someone who _fed_ upon darkness, who was darkness itself, personified.

Those handsome features, that richly alluring voice, that striking intelligence and wit, they were all tools…temptations and trickeries to snare the unwitting into a trap.

She would not fall for it this time.

Holding her resolve firmly in place, Hermione clutched her wand tightly within her pocket and prepared herself for the inevitable.

Tom seemed to sense her tension, immediately donning his trademark smirk, subtly mocking her.

"And how are you feeling, Jane? You had quite a nasty bump."

Hermione clenched her jaw in anger. How dare he! After everything he'd done to her! To play innocent now!

"I could be better." She managed to hiss, the words dripping with disdain. "No thanks to you."

At this, Tom raised an elegant eyebrow and scoffed lightly.

"Hmm."

He turned back towards the horizon, ignoring her.

The small action spoke volumes and something in Hermione finally snapped. Pulling her wand from her pocket, she aimed and yelled the first spell that came to mind.

"Sectumsemptra!"

Amazingly, Tom managed to dodge the spell with an unparalleled combination of grace and agility, pulling out his own wand in no time and sending his own spell back at her.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Hermione laughed loudly, knowing she must sound like a madwoman but finding herself not caring. She had been on her last nerve and the attack on her life had tipped her over the edge. This _boy_ was the reason she'd been called Mudblood, looked down at, all her life. _He_ was the reason, she'd lost everything; Harry, Ron, Ginny…any chance of happiness...it had all perished because of him. And he was going to pay.

With a ruthlessness matching Lord Voldemort, Hermione taunted Tom Riddle.

"Not using the Unforgivables, Riddle? Scared it'll ruin your perfect image? You won't have to worry for long!"

She flung another curse at him, and if the spell itself was bordering on dark magic, she didn't care. She was going to make him pay.

_"Mudblood."_

_"Mudblood."_

_"Mudblood."_

The word repeated over and over again in a mantra. She remembered her dream, drowning in the grime and blood, to know that her life wasn't valued more than _dirt _by others…that her entire life would be judged not by accomplishment but by birth…

She released another curse, throwing raw power behind her spells now.

Hermione was no longer just fighting Riddle. She was fighting Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, Fudge, Slughorn…every Pureblooded wizard who had ever mocked her heritage, belittled and doubted her abilities because of blood.

It was the breaking point. For everything.

She aimed another spell at him, no longer bothering with the words, just letting the magic flow through her and release itself upon her chosen target.

_"Mudblood."_

_"Mudblood."_

No matter where she went things would always be the same. She would always have a harder time finding well paying jobs because of her blood; have more trouble marrying; always face, day- by -day, the assumption that she was magically inferior…

To be judged, not by _who_ you are, but by _what_ you are…

This was her fate. And as Hermione threw spell after spell, curse after curse at Tom Riddle, she realized that he was never the target in the first place.

She was fighting fate. She was fighting destiny. And she'd always lose.

People would never change. Even if Voldemort was defeated, Purebloods would never stop believing that Muggleborns were inherently inferior. They would be subtle, quiet in their scrutiny, but it would be apparent in every gesture, every glance, and every action.

She would never escape it.

Tears were trickling down her cheeks before she even realized it. Panting for breath, Hermione finally stopped her onslaught of spells, crumpling to the floor in wracking sobs.

She couldn't do it. Her resolve had dissipated with her anger and she was left in an empty shell once more. She couldn't kill Tom Riddle.

Faintly, she heard the crescendo of footsteps softly approaching and knew that Tom had come to finish what she'd started.

_Well, let him._ Hermione thought hopelessly.

She didn't care anymore. All her friends were dead and gone, and the future was in shambles. There was nowhere to run and Dumbledore would find a way to send her back to her own time and the imminent death awaiting her soon enough.

She felt the cool tip of a wand at her throat and looked up into the beguilingly innocent face of Tom Riddle.

Riddle had his cool mask of indifference back in place as he spoke nonchalantly.

"What, Cacher, was _that_ all about?"

Hermione's anger flared again as she seethed,

"I hate you."

Tom raised an eyebrow, his features hiding all traces of emotion.

"Oh?"

And Hermione couldn't keep it in any longer. Everything she'd felt since she first stpped onto the Hogwarts Express came out in an outpour of raw anger and despair.

"I hate you! I hate everyone who thinks like you! Those who judge by blood and blood only! Ever since I got that blasted letter, I've been trying to prove myself to everybody! To prove that I belong here, at this school, in this society! But it doesn't matter! None of it does! You people will never care, will you? All you'll ever see is blood and blood alone. You'll never see me for myself. You'll always see what you believe rather that what really is."

She looked up at him in earnest, still panting for breath, not knowing what to expect.

Tom did not seem to react; only looked at her indifferently.

Finally, he spoke.

"And how are you any different?"

Before she could speak he cut her off—

"How are you different from those that you accuse? You too, see only what you want to believe. You thought _I_ was the one who attacked you, didn't you? Is that why you came up here? Because you thought _I_ tried to harm you?"

Before she knew what was going on, Hermione found herself snatched up by a pair of powerful hands and flung with her back pressed firmly to the ground, Tom's face within an inch of her own and his body pressed tightly over her own, keeping her in place. He placed his mouth over her ear, whispering venomously,

"If I wanted to hurt you, Cacher, you would know it was me. I wouldn't resort to such _stupid_ tactics to harm you."

His breath tickled the nape of her neck, and if Hermione wasn't in such a state of duress, she might have, under different circumstances, blushed a deep crimson, as she felt his teeth graze over the shell of her ear.

"No. If i'd wanted to hurt you, I'd take _everything, and do it beyond repair. _First, I'd allow you," and Hermione felt fingers splaying out across her ribs, pulling up her school sweater, "to feel the most exquisite pleasure …"

Her breath hitched as his fingers delved beneath the thick wool of the sweater and met with bare skin. Slowly, his fingers drew circles on her skin, sending chills through her body that were more than just from the night air.

Tom was now nibbling on her ear, slowly and deliberately, and Hermione felt her anger suddenly replaced with quite a different emotion.

Leaving the warmth of her skin, his fingers worked their way up to her hair, his fingers gently massaging her scalp in fluid, graceful movements. His mouth trailed from her ear down slowly, to her neck, working calmly and meticulously, as the tip of his tongue reached out and laved at her skin, causing Hermione to let out an unwarranted moan at his actions.

She had no idea why he had such an effect on her, but she didn't want him to stop.

"Then, _Jane,_" Tom voiced emphatically, his fingers still buried in her curls, massaging in slow circles, "I tear everything away and make you suffer."

Suddenly the gentle hands grabbed onto a fistful of her hair and pulled ruthlessly, eliciting a tortured scream from Hermione. She pulled forward, attempting to get away but only succeeded in pressing herself closer to Tom.

"Let me go!"

The hands pulling mercilessly at her hair were suddenly gone, as was the weight above her, leaving Hermione panting on the floor.

Tom seemed unfazed, however, as he calmly smoothed over the creases of his shirt.

"Like I said, Cacher, I wasn't the one who set that trap for you. On the contrary, I was the one who saved you and brought you to the Hospital Wing."

Hermione froze. What? Tom Riddle had been the one to—

Tom smirked, though it came out as more of a sneer as he voiced coolly,

"You're no different than I am, _Mudblood_ . You see only what you want to believe, as well. Which one of you within this school has ever thought of _anyone_ beyond their own Houses? Have you ever tried to _befriend_ a Slytherin, Jane? You might find you have a few things in common if you'd only get over your own bigotry."

"That's not the same! You're not persecuted by an entire society because of your birth!"

"No, but I was by an entire population of students in my first year. No one from Slytherin House would befriend me because of my heritage, and none of you other Houses would even glance my way. Why? Because of a badge. Don't preach me your morals about fairness and equality, Cacher. As far as I'm concerned _, you're not qualified_. Besides, there's no such thing as _fairness_ in this world. Get used to it and stop sniveling. You're _pathetic_."

He crouched above her once more, whispering his next words for her ears alone as he leaned over her form. The warm of his lips next to her ear made Hermione involuntarily shudder again, and she wondered at the power he seemed to have over her.

"You owe me a life debt, girl." The words were honey sweet to her ears, yet spoken with the same venom as before.

Tom gently reached out to play with a lock of her hair again. The implications behind the gesture of implied intimacy was not lost on her. Her life was forfeit to him.

"You _belong_ to me, and if one day I want something, you'll do it without question. Is that understodd? We're tied by a magical bond now. You're _honour_ -bound to me. That should make you happy, since you Gryffindors _love _your honour."

With a swish of robes, Tom turned and headed towards the stairs, leaving Hermione to her stricken solitude.

At the door, he turned around once more and Hermione finally noticed the crack in his usually impenetrable mask. There was something in his eyes and voice which frightened her in their sincerity.

The boy she'd just seen, the one she was seeing now, _this_ was the real Tom Riddle. Not the Dark Lord, not Voldemort. Just Tom.

"By the way, you're not the only one who's been trying to prove himself to this damned society. The only difference between us is that I refuse to be defeated by fate."

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

Alright, well what did you think? Please review and tell me! 

Yeah, I know, for those of you who wanted smut, this isn't exactly it, but I don't see Hermione gallivanting off with Riddle without some pretext first. There has to be some change in the dynamic of their relationship first.

Anyways, review and tell me what YOU think. Should I just throw them both in a broom closet and let them get it on? hehe.

Love, selenoliber


	11. The Second Battle

**Tempora Mutantur**

Hi, everyone. Yes, I am still alive and writing, hehe.

I apologize for the long wait. Yes, I know, it's been two long months and I'm very sorry for the wait, but chapter 11 is finally here!

Since I've made you all wait so long, this chapter has been written extra long. It's the length of two of my usual updates, to make up for lost time. :)

I hope you all enjoy it!

Now, let me thank you all for the overwhelming number of reviews! I could die a happy fangirl!

**Thank-you to my reviewers:** **Sam, Hoshi-chan1, Sophiax, megami, Pretty Wiccan, BitterBlack7, roguesolus, vla1diva, cdlowe8, voldiesgirl999, BitB21, puresilver, Victor Krum's lazyllama101, jip91, Maeve18, Angelo Del Ghiaccio, Hannah-Freya, Miriel216, Tom Riddle's reluctant bride, san01, Isolated Mind, thetasteofsatin, elom, Lolaledir, Webeta, EriEka127, Amy-Violet, raina, sammygurl262316, LittleBlackSwan, ohmygoddess, Herring, Mrs Pierre Bouvier, kc, sunset.rising, Stilico, dasz, HorseLoverTW, endless echo, JazzaAckles, amrawo, bliitheexD, ombeline, Addicted2Love, Anon, sweet-witch, mandy-jg, Calina Rhiannon, Gueneviere, bklyangel. **

We are finally at the half way mark in terms of plot, and I'm going to enjoy tying up all the loose strings in the coming chapters, hehe!

Now, I have some replies to reviews. Merlin, guys, I really, really want to reply to all of you b/c you all leave such wonderful reviews, but there isn't enough space, so I'll stick to the reviews with questions on the story/characterization.

If you have a question that I didn't answer, it's probably b/c this chapter answers it for you. Otherwise, I might have missed it and you can just visit my lj and leave me a note.

Anyways, here goes:

**Sam:** Hermione is definitely not a damsel in distress. She doesn't need saving. However, she is vulnerable at times, as we all are, despite her incredible talents and willpower. But don't worry. I have no intention of making her out to be a damsel, even if she might be a little too perceptible to the powers of our sexy Tom Riddle. But then again…he's a hot, handsome future dark lord…who wouldn't be affected?

**PrettyWiccan:** haha. When are they going to shag? I ask myself that question every chapter…sometimes I have an overwhelming urge to make it get it over with already…but then where would all the fun be? After all, UST is half the game. To tell you the truth, I have no idea. Soon, if I have my way though.

**Cdlowe8**: Yes, there is something happening in the future. I'm not saying anything else on the subject, but don't worry. I haven't forgotten. By the way, I've told you this before, but you are one of the smartest reviewers I've ever had!

**Vla1diva:** ch 10 certainly gives that impression doesn't it? But you know Hermione…she's full of surprises.

**Hannah-Freya:** As requested, there's a little snippet into Tom's mind. Not too much though, I'm afraid. Tom puts Crucio on me whenever I try too hard to understand him. He's such a mystery, isn't he? And no, he most definitely does not hate Hermy. How could he? She's so adorable. Tom's just good at hiding his feelings.

**Ohmygoddess:** what my next fic will be? Gosh, I have no idea. But I'm am a DHr fan, so it's definitely a possibility, lol.

**Stilico:** The timeline is set to before he opens the COS. It's very observative of you to notice. I'm trying to keep the dates and events as closely canon as possible, but it's been a while since I've gone through the books, and since this the original plot was planned out before I read HBP, there might be a few discrepancies.:)

**JazzaAckles:** Yes there is something happening in the present and don't worry, hon, I haven't forgotten about it. You'll find out what's happening soon. As I've said above, this story is reaching its climax and I'm about half way done, so there will be lots of loose strings to die together, which will hopefully, allow everyone to see the bigger picture. :)

**Gueniviere:** Oh, I agree with everything you said in your review about Tom and Hermione. Sometimes, as a writer you just want to whack them both on the head! lol. I've gotten a few people asking me not to make this story too angst/dark/depressing, and I guess the best answer I have is that I don't know yet myself how it's going to go. I have my basic plotlines and futures chapters mapped out, but as to the final ending…well, we'll just have to see. I will try to make the ending as realistic and believable as humanly possible. That doesn't mean it will be dark or depressing, but it does mean that the ending won't be overly sugar coated. :)

Anyways, I hope I've answered most of your questions!

Thanks for all your wonderful reviews and all of your wonderful support.

I have one more person to thank, and that is my lovely beta: **puresilver, **who's stuck with me for 10 long chapters and almost 5 long months, and always manages to find time to read my writing and reply in a day or two. Thanks a lot, darling!

Alright, so without further ado, enjoy the chapter!

_

* * *

_

_At the door, he turned around once more and Hermione finally noticed the crack in his usually impenetrable mask. There was something in his eyes and voice which frightened her in their sincerity. _

_This was the real Tom Riddle. Not the Dark Lord, not Voldemort. Just Tom. _

_"By the way, you're not the only one who's been trying to prove himself in this damned society." _

_And with that, he was gone. _

* * *

**The Second Battle**

**  
**

He strode down the corridor, nothing in his countenance giving away a hair of disturbance.

A cool mask of indifference marked his features, the epitome of godly beauty infused within mortal form.

Along the halls, girls smiled up shyly at him from behind their bangs while boys greeted him good-naturedly.

He was Tom Riddle; the zenith of Hogwart's best and brightest.

Yet, behind the veneer of detachment, a dark storm was warring. Waves of memories crashed upon the banks of Tom's conscience, flooding every crevice with echoing whispers.

Her words kept haunting him:

_Ever since I got that blasted letter, I've been trying to prove myself to everybody!_ _To prove that I belong here, at this school, in this society!_

Behind the semblance of peace, a small remote part of Tom was startled and disturbed.

He'd called her pathetic and run away at the time, pretending disgust at her weakness, but…

Her frustration, anger…her desperation … it was all too similar.

_Too familiar_.

Her words crashed past the floodgates of the mind, drowning out other thoughts, seeping through the tiny cracks of Tom's usually flawless mask to reach a humanity he had not known still existed. Whatever part of Tom that was still pure—still untainted by dark magic and a greed for power— was responding, _had responded, _to Cacher's words.

Why on earth had he told her about his own experiences? He could still hear his own words...echoing…

_No one from Slytherin House would befriend me because of my heritage, and none of the other Houses would even glance my way._

His thoughts had rushed out before he'd realized what he was saying, and Tom scolded himself for the lapse in judgement.

Of course, he'd tried to gloss over the slip in speech by feigning malice and viciousness, calling her pathetic and leaving in disgust, when he'd really left due to the unfamiliar sense of panic that arisen.

Tom had n_ever_ forgotten himself before.

He'd learned at an early age that to allow others an understanding into yourself was to flaunt your weakness for the world to see. Therefore, as a rule of thumb, he had always made a note to understand everything about others, and reciprocate nothing in return.

It was one of the reasons he'd maintained his flawless image.

People create what they want to see. Why else would so many witches of his age fall head -over -heels for some stranger pretty boy actor in Witch Vogue they'd never met? They fell in love with their own dreams and hopes, building up and adoring their own imaginations rather than the person.

It was a flaw Tom had used to his advantage.

The less people knew about you, the easier it was to create an illusion based on the unknown. The easier it became to idolize someone. His popularity was testament to his theory.

Nobody knew the real Tom, though all of them imagined him to be the answer to their prayers. The vapid girls…his Death Eaters…all under illusion to their own desires. Living in the fantasy of their own wishful thinking.

Pushing past a set of double doors, Tom clenched his teeth in self- irritation.

_So why on earth did I tell Cacher those things? _

He had provided her with a weakness, allowed his _emotions_ to take over, allowed his past –those damned memories— to overshadow logic…

_"Disgrace of Slytherin House! Disgusting half-blood!"_

_"You don't even know your own parents? Stupid half- breed! It's true! Muggles **are **stupid!"_

It'd been so long since first-year, since that time when he'd been _weak_…No one had ever dared to say those things to him again. He'd made sure of it over the years. But the memory still smarted, burned like acid to leave some part of him feeling raw and wounded inside.

_Damn her for reminding him!_

No passerby could have possibly imagined the tumultuous uproar within Tom's mind as he paced downwards towards the dungeons, stepping inside the vast grandness of the Slytherin Common Room, a smooth mask of indifference set in place, small smirk playing upon his lips to suggest nothing was wrong.

His followers, all frozen upon his entrance, bowed their heads in respect, one by one, subtlety or unconsciously acknowledging his superiority before continuing with prior activities.

Tom made no attempt to reply, only strode forcefully upstairs, walking at a moderate pace to allow those in his path to quickly scamper out of the way. He was in one of those moods, and no one was foolish enough to get in his way.

_This is the power I have gained. _He noted vaguely to himself. _The power I wield over others._

What a long way he had come, from that homeless, feeble boy to the image he had created for himself—to a name which would one day remold the Wizarding World.

But there was still a long ways to go, a difficult journey left to travel, before he could truly become Lord Voldemort.

Too many obstacles still stood in the way. Slamming the door behind him, Tom allowed himself to collapse unto the bed, hands reaching up to massage tired temples. Obstacles such as this.

_Why am I being so sentimental? Reliving old memories…it has to end. This is weakness. _

If he wanted _real_ power, he would need to transcend the flaws of humanity …rid himself of all inherent human weaknesses…of these… emotions. He couldn't afford to slip up again, especially in front of Cacher.

The girl had been after his life, he was sure of it. The look in her eyes had told it all. Not to mention the spells.

_But why? _

It was another riddle in a long series of questions that revolved around the girl and intrigued Tom to no end.

Pushing away the plaguing rush of foreign feelings in the past hour, Tom steeled his mind towards another purpose.

It was time he got some answers.

Mentally assessing the situation, Tom smirked, knowing his tiny slip-up of emotions was nothing compared to the breakdown Cacher had displayed.

After suffering an attempt on her life and engaging herself in a duel shortly afterward, without recuperation, Cacher was both emotionally and physically weakened.

Now was the time to strike.

She would be too weak to fight or refuse him anything, and if she did…well, there was always the life debt he could dangle in front of her.

Tom smiled; a rare, dark curve of the lips that would have sent shivers down anyone's spine. He thought back to how she'd humiliated him with that posse of flying cupids…the numerous dark spells and life threatening hexes she'd thrown at him on the Astronomy Tower…

She had won their first game. But Tom wasn't concerned. This was only the beginning, after all.

_Let's see how well you fare this time,_ the future dark lord thought smugly with anticipation

The pieces were in place, the pawns set, and the stakes had been raised. Everything was in his favour. He would not lose again. The previous battle had been a sacrifice, a pre-emptive testing of the waters, more defensive than offensive. She had exceeded his expectations, true, but her powers were still no comparison to his own.

He would show her the full extent of his capabilities now. He would take the reins and force her to play _his _game.

_I'll keep my word_, Tom vowed silently. _You'll be mine, Jane Cacher. Soon enough. _

Jane might have won the battle, but it would be Tom Riddle who would win the war.

He relished the rush of satisfaction which came with the thought, savored the flood of rapturous ecstasy that came with the notion of dominating someone like Jane Cacher.

Carefully, he pulled out a tightly bound book from beneath his pillow and caressed its leather cover reverently before snatching a quill from a nearby desk.

But first things first. Jane, after all, was only part of his plans.

Carefully Tom penned the date—

_March 14, 1943_

Tomorrow was the Slug Club's celebration, and he had a few questions for his dear old Professor…

Smirking, Tom ignored the tiny prick of conscience which disapproved of his plans.

_I'll be rid of you soon. _He thought snidely. _I'll rid myself of these emotions. I will transcend human boundaries and do what no man has done before…_

It was one step amongst many he would take.

One step amongst many which would distance himself from the weak, worthless child he had been to the legend he would one day become—Lord Voldemort.

Tom whispered the name softly, velvet on steel, more of a hiss than a whisper as it carried on the draft from the window. The sibilated syllables hung in air, as enticing and full of promise as the call of dark spells within his dreams.

Closing his eyes and imagining the screams of his future victims, of the fear he'd strike into those who'd once wronged him—muggle and pureblood, alike—Tom laughed.

It was an unnatural, high-pitched laughter. One so different from the usual soft chuckle his peers and teachers knew him by.

Enjoying the symphony of hissing whispers and cold, ruthless laughter in the air, Tom scratched his quill to the paper of the leather-bound book again—

_Dear Diary, _

_I've finally found it. The key to my destiny…_

* * *

"I'm telling you, Walburga, _we_ didn't do it! We set the trap just like you told us!" 

"Then why is it that the Headmaster and Dumbledore are searching high and low for the person who tried to _kill _Cacher?"

Walburga Black twirled on her heels, her thick, lustrous strands of hair fanning out in a gorgeous cascade of ebony darkness as she turned. Anger pulsed in every step she took, radiated from the ferocious glares she sent towards the two other occupants of the room.

"You were supposed to merely _scare_ her! I thought we _agreed _on this!"

Her beautifully crafted plan was foiled, and by her own blood kin, no less. Walburga stalked back towards the two girls, her every step commanding silence as she hissed,

"If you really wanted to kill her that badly, you should have done it discreetly! As it is, we'll get _expelled_ if they find out!"

"But we're telling you it wasn't us!"

The raven haired girl scoffed, her reply dripping with disdain and sarcasm.

"Oh and I suppose someone else set a trap at the precise moment you did and then attempted to hit Cacher with an Avada Kedavra, is that it?"

An uncomfortable silence followed the pronouncement, the objects of Walburga's scorn exchanging nervous glances, before the elder of the two dared to whisper what was on the other's mind.

"Well…yes, actually..."

"Silence!"

Both girls received another viperous glare and shivered in fear from where they stood. It was foolish to upset their leader in anything, especially in matters concerning Tom Riddle.

Both waited quietly for a verdict, each knowing life as they knew it within the haven of Slytherin House was over. To get on the bad side of Walburga was to wage war against all the girls of the House of Serpents.

There was a long pause of silence.

Finally, their leader spoke, her voice discernibly subdued, though none the more venomous.

"Who did this then, if it wasn't you two?"

"All we saw was a blur of black from behind the bushes and the outline of a man. I swear, Walburga, it's the truth."

The raven beauty before them said nothing, only narrowed her eyes suspiciously as she asked sharply,

"Who was the man? What was he wearing? What did he look like?"

"We only got a glimpse but he was wearing black, and a mask of some kind. That was it."

Walburga's interest was piqued. Who would be wearing a mask and lurking about Hogwarts in open daylight? And more importantly, what did they want with Cacher?

A sudden idea struck her mind, and she smirked, her foul mood suddenly lightened by this new information. With a dismissive wave, she sent the two Slytherin girls on their way, punishment forgotten in lieu of something darker.

So, Cacher had _them_ as enemies, did she? And _they_ wanted her dead, apparently.

_Well, well_, Walburga thought with gleeful malevolence_, this could play out to her advantage_.

* * *

Hermione raced down the corridor, running for all she was worth. 

She had overslept! How had she managed to oversleep? Her!

Yet, the previous night's events had taken its toll on her, from her outbursts at Riddle to her extensive use of magic. She was still weak from all the magic she'd done.

It wasn't healthy to overexert oneself, especially in magic. Despite what people believed, there _was _a capacity for the amount of magic a person could perform before experiencing a burnout. She was only lucky that her extensive use of magic during the war had built up an impressive level of endurance.

Two leaps down the stairs and she had reached the dungeons. Pushing the heavy oak door of the Potions room open, Hermione found most of the class already assembled in their seats, with Professor Slughorn merrily taking attendance. He shot a glance at her from the corner of his eye and smiled cheerfully, saying:

"Ah, my dear, just on time. Not to worry, not to worry, you haven't missed anything. Take a seat please."

There were several scoffs from the Slytherins. Hermione had undoubtedly been late. Yet, as one of the top students in Slughorn's class, she had earned her graces into Slughorn's favour.

The potions professor had been keenly aware of Hermione ever since her arrival, curious to know more about the mysterious transfer student who had miraculously managed to tie his top student in every subject.

Smiling in relief the beefy man, Hermione made her way to her seat and promptly prepared her cauldron for class. She ignored the handsome boy beside her, intent on her work, despite the sheering intensity of the forest green eyes directed at her.

After the events of yesterday— her attempted murder of a Hogwarts Prefect, her subsequent breakdown in front of said Prefect, and then acquiring the knowledge that she owed her_ life_ to the same annoying Prefect—it had all been too much, and she stilldidn't know just _how_ to react to him.

What exactly _could_ she say, after all?

_Thanks for not telling the Headmaster that I tried to kill you. By the way, I still want to kill you for murdering all my friends and family in the future and becoming a Dark Lord. _

She couldn't _believe_ she'd broken down in front of _Tom Riddle_ of all people. And a sneaking suspicion told her that he would be using it to his advantage.

He was an evil git, after all.

Yet something in the way his eyes had looked last night made her feel he'd been sincere when he'd said those last words.

_No one from Slytherin House would befriend me because of my heritage, and none of you other Houses would even glance my way._

Was that really how it had been? Hermione refused to believe it. Yet, some nagging feeling told her that he had spoken the truth. His eyes had looked so…vulnerable, and as impossible as it was to attribute Tom Riddle to any weakness, it was still the only word to describe it.

Class began with a new lesson on a complex potion even Hermione had never heard of.

For the remainder of the class, it took all her concentration to manage her task at hand and she was victorious when the potion finally turned the right shade of green.

Looking up, a wide smile spread across her face, her eyes met again with the startling intensity of emerald green orbs and she was instantly reminded of the night before—

_"By the way, you're not the only one who's been trying to prove himself in this damned society." _

The words had struck a cord with her.

She had studied Lord Voldemort during the war, prying for some weakness Harry could exploit. Harry had told them about Tom Riddle's childhood, the state of his destitution, and Hermione had always wondered if that had been the incentive for his later actions.

It was yet another similarity that they shared. The mutual desire to be _worthy_.

Hermione looked away, noting that the look in Tom's eyes was anything but the unmasked vulnerability of the night before. The glint of his eyes looked almost…_hungry_. Like he wanted to devour her.

Hermione quickly looked away; taken aback that she was the subject of such scrutiny.

_He's just trying to get to you. Ignore him. _

Attempting to concentrate on her potion once more, Hermione found her thoughts returning to the previous night again. She wondered whether he had meant to show her that part of himself.

It could all have been be a trick, whatever he had said. Logic and experience told her told her it must have been a trick. She knew better than to underestimate him. Tom Riddle was too clever to reveal his weaknesses to anyone.

_But the look in his eyes… no one could be **that** good of an actor. _

It was a battle between instinct and logic.

_He's evil! Of course he's that good an actor! He's cunning and manipulative. He coerced thousands to his cause. _

_He's not a Dark Lord yet, which means he still makes mistakes…he's still human. Why else would he tell you all those things about himself? Why didn't he hurt you yesterday when you attacked him? Why did he save your life? _

Hermione smile softly at the thought, confused, but still thankful for Riddle's mercy, even if she suspected he'd done it for himself rather than for her.

But, in truth, she told herself, he hadn't much to gain by saving her-- she decided to trust her instinct.

_I don't think you're such an uncaring bastard after all, Tom. _

Of course, she had no idea of Tom Riddle's plans to use her for his cause.

The object of her thoughts was still staring at her, throwing clandestinity to the wind. The predatory hunger of before was gone, or rather, subdued (she always felt like prey when he looked at her.) She recognized his glance for what it was. A challenge.

Both of them knew that the previous night had been one of error and revelation. Each had learned a weakness from the other, and had revealed a weakness in turn.

Tom, in typical Slytherin fashion, was making the first move.

Obviously, it wasn't over between them, this duel. Hermione had thought that after last night, perhaps, he would simply stay away from her. She knew from experience that he had done it to Dumbledore, had never tried to win over the old professor as he had the other teachers.

Hermione felt her heart thump loudly against her chest. It was a challenge. He was challenging her to continue their duel.

But the stakes had risen from a few mere pranks and a fallen ego, she knew. It was getting serious. He held a life debt in his hands, a huge advantage. It couldn't continue.

Yet, her Gryffindor pride was roaring that she not surrender. From the look of amusement in Tom's eyes, Hermione guessed that he knew exactly how she felt and had counted on it.

_He's playing me. _Hermione thought angrily_. He knows I hate giving up on anything. _

It was yet another reason not to continue. He knew too much about her. He was even beginning to understand her. The thought brought a shudder to her body. That was the last thing she wanted. The _Dark Lord_ understanding how her mind worked.

Breaking eye contact, Hermione grabbed a vial and scooped her potion into the empty container. She purposely ignored the handsome Slytherin boy across from her and marched up to Slughorn's desk, placing the tiny vial amidst the growing number already on his desk.

Slughorn smiled slyly at Hermione and discreetly handed her an envelope.

"Hope you can make it." He whispered, before shooing her back to her seat.

Hermione knew before looking at it that it was an invitation to the Slug Club. All around her, students were gaping. Most looked at her in surprise or envy, although the group of Slytherin girls in the corner shot her their usual venomous glares.

Minerva walked silently towards her.

"That's—"

"An invitation to the Slug Club. Yeah, I know."

She looked up to see astonished faces staring at her in askance and quickly realized her mistake.

"I learned about it from one of the other kids." She explained hurriedly. Minerva nodded slowly, giving her a reassuring smile and hurrying back to her seat, while the others looked away in disinterest once more.

But Tom continued to glance at her. Finally, it become too aggravating and Hermione turned towards him, snapping,

"Do you mind, Riddle? Stop staring at me!"

He said nothing, just returned her outburst with a cheeky smirk that only further infuriated her.

And as the bell rang, Hermione dashed for the door, eager to be away from the presence of a certain Slytherin.

She needed to plan a strategy, she needed to recuperate, she needed research and a nice trip to the librar—

A strong hand grabbed her by the elbow.

"Can I have a word, Jane?"

Hermione closed her eyes and let out a slight breath. _This was not good._ Turning around, she fixed him with her most winning smile and said in an overly cheery voice,

"Actually, I really need to be going, Minerva's waiting—"

"McGonagall's already left with Clearwater and Prewett so she won't mind, will she?"

Hermione glowered, defeated, throwing Tom Riddle a scathing glare, though he ignored it and pulled her along behind him as he headed up the stairs.

"What are you—"

"Just wanted a bit of privacy, that's all." Tom glanced back to give her a charming smile.

Silhouetted by the bright sun rays which accentuated the emerald shade of his eyes, the smile nearly took Hermione's breath away and left her gaping with her mouth half open.

Tom looked pleased with himself, using the moment of distraction to pull her up the remaining flight of stairs and steer her into an empty hallway by the shoulders, away from prying eyes.

At his actions, Hermione quickly fell out of her trance, at just the right moment to avoid Riddle's attempted grip for her arm.

Instinct took over and her wand was out before he could grab her again.

Tom raised an eyebrow in question, amusement dancing in his expression, as he eyed her wand from his vantage point, leaning casually against the wall.

"I should ask why you think a wand's any use. What are you going to do with it? Kill me? _You can't_."

Hermione tensed, suddenly remembering the life debt. _Damn it. _

Knowing he had her cornered, Tom advanced; his foot falls echoing softly on the stone tiles, in sync to the thumping anxiety of Hermione's heartbeat.

Tightening the grip on her wand, Hermione snarled,

"Don't move, Riddle."

He continued towards her, his lips curled upwards in a triumphant smirk, his expression one of overwhelming arrogance.

"Make me."

Despite his confidence, Hermione saw one hand creep inside his pocket, where his own wand was most likely hidden. She snarled, ready to fling a hex at him. The life debt stopped her from killing him. It didn't say anything about _hurting_ him.

But Riddle spoke before she could summon a spell-

"Wait. I only want to talk." He held his hands up in supplication.

She didn't fall for it. "I don't want to talk to you! Go away!"

Seeing that charm wouldn't win her over, Tom's expression immediately turned cold.

"Since you owe me your life, Cacher, I think it's best you give me the courtesy of a few minutes."

He was preying on her Gryffindor honour, manipulating her sense of morality again.

It took all of Hermione's will power not to fling a hex. Pocketing her wand instead to resist temptation, she crossed her arms and huffed,

"You have one minute."

Tom smiled; another breathtakingly charming smile which sent flutters through her heart. Hermione closed her eyes to calm herself.

He was irresistible when he smiled like that; the picture of innocence and charisma, combined with a mysteriously dark sensuality. The only problem was that the bloody git knew it and used it to his advantage at every turn.

Mentally kicking herself and forcing calm, Hermione opened her eyes only to find Tom directly in front of her, much too close for comfort.

He leaned down slowly, taking his time, knowing that it unnerved her. Hermione was caught by the emerald green of his eyes, locked upon hers in a mesmerizing intensity which burned yet enflamed her.

_Just what did he think he was doing?_

She wanted to run only to find her legs refusing command. She wanted to yell only to find her breath stolen. Tom was fearfully close now. So close, she could feel his warm breath ghost over her skin.

He was leaning in…closer…and closer…

She found her gaze drawn to his lips, felt herself wondering how they would feel against her own…what was he doing to her?

Tom seemed to know the effect he had on her, because he leaned in closer, their bodies melding together, thigh to thigh, chest to chest.

She couldn't take it, his close proximity. His very presence was tampering with her brain, shutting off all thoughts.

"Riddle—"

"Shhh" He shushed her, a finger placed softly over her lips, his eyes still meeting her own. There was something…feral lurking behind the swirling dark depths.

He was inclining closer again, his warm breath splaying over her skin, making hairs stand and sending tingles down alongside her body.

Why did she feel like this? Hermione felt a strange warmth fan across her body, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. What was he doing to her?

Then all questions suddenly stopped, and her mind blanked as she felt his lips on her cheek—and _oh god_—_his tongue_.

He was trailing kisses along her cheek to her ear, and Hermione heard a gasp—her gasp—and then a low, melodious chuckling. She could feelTom smile against her cheek, and then move away, just a little, to look her in the eyes again.

There was amusement glittering behind dark orbs, and the same feral beast she'd seen moments before, lurking beneath the surface. The familiar smirk was back as he took in her flustered state.

"Admit it, Cacher, you want me."

Tom didn't give her time to reply, as he moved forward and touched his lips to her cheek again, feeling the warmth of her blush emanating as he darted out his tongue to taste her.

He smiled in satisfaction, knowing he had her exactly where he wanted, that she was completely shocked and flustered by his antics.

It always worked on girls.

Cacher seemed frozen in shock, her eyes wide and staring vacantly, her breaths coming in frantic pants. She hadn't even noticed that he'd stolen her wand from her.

Well, it seemed Miss Know- It- All _didn't _know everything. He'd have to correct that lapse in education, Tom thought smugly.

Resting his lips against the shell of her ear, he murmured in his most honeyed, tempting voice—a luring drawl:

"Join me."

His voice carried as a siren's song to an unwitting sailor, temptation and heavenly promises coating the jagged rocks and doom beneath the surface.

He'd convince her while she was still unsettled, unsure and confused.

"Join me, Cacher," Tom renewed in sinisterly sweet, dulcet tones. "We could be so much together, you and I."

His hands reached out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her closer. She was pliant in his arms, still shocked and panting, her breasts rising and falling against his chest in a way that aroused him.

His initial lust for her was triggered again, reawakened in the presence of her close proximity. Tom ignored his urges. _He _was the one in control here.

"Join me. We'll rule the world."

His last statement seemed to snap her out of her shock, as she abruptly pushed against him and struggled to free herself from the cage of his arms. She'd regained her senses.

"Let me go!"

Tom held tight. He knew they were both late for class and would probably serve detention for it, but he wasn't going to pass up this golden opportunity.

"Stop denying the obvious, Cacher!" He yelled at her. His harsh tone was enough to make her stop her struggles for a minute, surprised yet again by his actions.

Tom immediately relaxed, knowing he had her attention and said calmly,

"You feel it, don't you, the lure of the magic, how it comes at your beckoning? You like the feeling. It gives you a sense of power over them, doesn't it? It makes you feel _worthy_."

He was using her own words against her, knowing it would plead a stronger case.

"You're right, Cacher. The people out there," He gestured towards the halls—Hogwarts, the outside world.

"They won't ever understand you. They won't ever see you beyond your blood. You'll never secure a job or any position beyond what _they_ think a muggle-born is worthy of."

Play upon her fears; heighten her uncertainty- paint a drab grey world where they cannot imagine any hope, where dreams are dead. She would join him like all the others, because like all the others—his fangirls and followers—she too, craved for a reality that would never see fruition.

"You'll always be living in _their_ expectations, unable to change your fate because wherever you go, wherever you run, it's the same. The less talented, less capable will always have the coveted jobs, the respect."

He would provide her with an alternative, another dream, a world that would be everything she'd ever hoped for and more—an illusion.

"Join me and we'll change it. We're the same, you and I. We're both outsiders. We're both controlled by a society where _others_ dictate and we follow."

Tom pulled her closer again, seeing the uncertainty, the confusion in her eyes.

_Good. _

"You said you were trapped by your fate. Change it. We can both change it. We can create our own world where this kind of prejudice doesn't exist. We'll make them see beyond our bloodlines. We'll force them to acknowledge our power, our strength, our _worthiness_. Join me…I can help you…"

He could see she was trembling now, could feel her shaking in his arms. A tiny voice in his head told him he liked the feel of her in his arms, liked the way she molded against him.

Cacher's eyes searched his, looking for something. She pushed for release once more, and this time, Tom let her go, giving her the illusion of freedom and choice.

_This is working exactly to plan. _

The moment he released her, Tom realized his mistake.

Cacher immediately straightened, the confusion in her eyes replaced by an unyielding ferocity.

Her wand was pointed straight at him, and Tom checked his pocket in surprise to find that she'd stolen it back without his notice.

_The devious little-_

"That won't work on me, Tom." Her voice was quiet; almost a whisper, but he could hear the underlying steel of her resolve.

"I'll never join you, no matter how you try to coerce me. And you're wrong. You can't _force_ people into believing anything. Prejudice is always going to exist, even if you restructure society itself. I'm not naïve enough to fall for it. What you're saying…it's madness! You can't _control_ people!"

"No, Jane, it_ would_ work. People_ like_ to be led. They're helpless on their own. They crave purpose, direction—leadership. With the correct conditioning, you can make them believe anything, you can make them _do_ anything."

She simply stared in horror, her gaze intent upon his, though it felt as if she was looking past him—beyond him—seeing another person in his stead.

"You're wrong!"

"No, I'm right. And you know it." He matched steel with steel, glare for glare, and took a step towards her, only to find her tighten her hold on her wand.

"I don't want you anywhere near me, Riddle." Sharp and cutting.

He raised an elegant eyebrow. "Really? That's not how you were acting before."

A small blush peaked in her cheeks, but her gaze quickly turned to ice again, before he could take advantage of her discomfort.

There was a tilt of the chin, and a look of determination in her eyes that he had never seen before.

He had expected her to be weak after everything that'd happened—confused and without direction—waiting for him to give her a new purpose. Yet, here she was— tempered and as unyielding as steel.

Unbreakable.

"You're going to leave me alone from now on. I don't want anything to do with you."

Tom smirked again, arrogance marking his features as he stated.

"We're bound to each other. You owe me your life. It doesn't matter if you don't want anything to do with me. _Magic _has tied us together."

Cacher only shook her head. "I don't care."

"Oh, but _I_ care, Jane. You can't deny this bond, anymore than you can deny that you're attracted to me-"

"I am not!" Her expression was livid now, and for some reason, her anger excited him.

His usual tactics hadn't worked on her. She was stronger than that. Somehow, he should have known she would be. This game was going to be fun.

He took another step and tilted his head to the side, purposefully studying her. "You are."

"I _hate_ you, Tom Riddle! I _hate_ you!" She gripped her wand harder and jabbed it towards him.

"Why aren't you hexing me, then? Go on. If you hate me so much, then hex me." Tom taunted sneeringly.

He was so sure that she wouldn't, so sure that his seduction had been effective enough to solicit her affections, that when the dazzling ray of blue soared towards him, he wasn't in the least bit prepared to retaliate.

Tom's last thought before the hex struck its target and sent him hurdling to the ground was that he still had a lot more to learn about women.

_

* * *

_

Phew. Ok guys, so what did you think? Like it, hate it?

I really tried to emphasize the fact that Tom is a teenager in many respects. He is going through a period of change and slowly shaping into the person he will become-- he is by no means Lord Voldemort yet and along the road, there are bound to be bumps and bruises. He is also not completely corrupted yet, and there is still something redeemable within him that Hermione has finally managed to see a bit of. The Dark Lord's greatest strength is being able to create an army powerful enough to oppose the Ministry, in my opinion. He managed to convince purebloods, people who hated him, to call him leader—managed to charm werewolves, giants and heck, even dementors. I've attributed this power of his to being able to gage what others desire—the ability to manipulate others by weaving an illusion. Who wouldn't want to join you when you're offering them their dreams?

Anyways, that's just a few thoughts on Lord Voldemort. I could talk about this all day, but there's more than enough discussion groups about these topics already, so I'll digress.

Thanks for reading everyone, and plz review! You have no idea how happy your reviews make me.


	12. The Rolling Ball

**Tempora Mutantur**

**AN**: I apologize to everyone for the very, very late update. Yes, I know that it's almost a month late of an update but it has been a really hectic two months for me and will probably continue being chaotic so please bare with me if updates are a bit sporadic from now on. I promise I'll try for longer updates with each chapter though, if the wait is long.

Now…moving on to good news! **drumroll plz!!!**

Tempora Mutantur was nominated for Best Time-Turner Story and it tied for first place at Granger Enchanted!

Go see the banner on my profile page!

Moving on**, THANK YOU FOR ALL THE REVIEWS**! I really mean it. My eyes almost popped out from the sheer number of reviews I got from this chapter. And what's this?!?! 300 reviews?!?!? dies and goes to heaven

**Thanks to: bklyangel**, **MandaPandaAR, lovin potter, ombeline, Tom Riddle's reluctant bride, Tigger- 180, BitB21, JazzaAckles, teeeeej, Victor Krum's lazyllama101, Sandy, Gloria The Younger, puresilver, Addicted2love, hanvu, TohruHonda77, nelygirl, Sassy Chick 999, v1adiva, Sophiax, cdlowe8, Gueneviere, mandy-jg, .oOAurelieOo., Katheryne, moonlights desire, Nice, Riddles- kid- fifth -maurauder, amrawo, Huntress, amora bleu, Lalia X, ohmygoddess, miriel216, Sam, Blairwitch 17, sweet-witch, grounded angel2, LadySoftball, The Almighty Cheez It, heffy, sunset.rising, endless echo, Isolated Mind, Hoshi-Chan1, dogwood aka burnt, X-Yuriko-X, Lisa, lavya0393, kyane black, aGreatPenName, Cynthia 15, matchbookromance, Furies of Darkness, diane, Lucyferina, NoirEtoileDemeureCache, (thanks to the person who reviewed in Chinese), ccrawley10, HorseLoverTW, UnderTheRoseTree, Dagon ng Likha, RK012, mindwrung, Luna, spicy-eb, krachum, Dani JoAnn, bluelagoon, ShiZZle, alice**

Thank-you so much for all your support guys. You've really all been the best.

**Special thanks** to my beta, the lovely and utterly wonderful- in way-words-can't-express beta, **puresilver** who actually ended up beta-ing this chapter three times because of paranoid old me.

Also, thanks to **sweet-witch** for her uh…multiple reviews. Sorry for the long wait, hun. I'll try to write up the next chapter faster.

Thanks to **MandyPandaAR** for all her support on LJ during my little crisis. I love you, darling!

And lastly but not least: **Special Thanks to Heffy, who emailed me and made the nomination at Granger Enchanted! I love you darling!**

Due to the very, long list of people I have to reply to, I'll be answering your questions to the last chapter at the end of the chapter again, sorry. Lol. Although…this chapter does answer some questions and requests.

Anyway, here is chapter 12. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**The Rolling Ball**

_**Wiltshire, Headquarters, September 11, 1999. 17:00. **_

"Hannah, no we're not doing this. You don't even know—"

"I have it on good authorit—"

"Good authority, my arse! I told you not to trust him!"

They stood panting and huffing, the walls of the cellar creaking to the rising echoes of anger and frustration, which seeped along the vein-like planks of their underground headquarters.

To Ernie Macmillan, it felt more like a crypt—locking forlorn souls within clam-like walls never to see the light of day again. And indeed, it had been four months now. Four months since he'd last seen a dawn or sunset or the sky, plants…people...

"How can you be so—" She growled, curbing her words before they became too harsh, wounded too far.

Ernie smiled in response, a quick quirk of the lips that she missed.

No matter how bad things were, Hannah still had that beautiful spirit, the same kindness that first induced her to befriend an overly pompous, arrogant brat like him back in first year. He'd always known that he carried himself that way—couldn't really help it— had been brought up that way. And Hannah had been the first one to truly accept him – just as he was, without any change, even though he annoyed her often with his unconscious, condescending looks.

The dynamic of their relationship had changed so much over the years and he would have liked to say that he had not grown into a self-important, pompous man, but he knew from her occasional looks and shakes of her head, that as much as he tried to please her and stamp out the inherent pomposity, it was still there— a constant reminder that one cannot change what they are.

And what were they now, really?

Fugitives.

Branded criminals running away from the "justice" of the Dark Lord. Is that not what the Daily Prophet had called them?

"Hannah, _please_. I'm begging you. Don't go off and do this. You don't even know—"

Lips thinned and pressed together determinedly. "I'm going to try Ernie. Hermione's our only hope."

"_Hermione_ is dead!" He huffed with exasperation. Why could Hannah not understand such a simple concept? They were in a losing war—no, the war was already lost. Now, the only thing that mattered was getting out alive.

Ernie knew his fate had been decided on the day of the battle at Hogwarts. They'd lost everyone in that battle. Everyone that mattered, anyway.

What was left were the broken pieces: those who had unwittingly joined the losing side and found themselves in far over their heads or those who had found themselves fighting someone else's battle, a battle far greater than their own purpose in life, and had realized only too late what their choices had meant.

Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Lisa Turpin, the Creevey Brothers…where were they all now? Were they also fleeing for their lives? Had they been caught?

Ernie knew they were all going to pay. Knew it was only a matter of time before they were caught. The Dark Lord was relentless in his search. After the last of the rebellion is wiped out, no one would ever dare defy him again.

_Who would be left to try?_

He wanted to buy them some time. That was the only thing left to do. They'd go to Switzerland, Brazil, Japan –anywhere. Whatever it took to stay alive. He'd protect her.

But with this new development…Hannah was deliberately placing herself in the Dark Lord's warpath. He could not let that happen.

"If there is even the_ slightest_ chance that they're right then it would be worth it! Besides, Professor Lupin's with them and he says—"

"FORGET LUPIN! I'M TELLING YOU HERMIONE'S BLOODY DEAD! NO ONE LEFT HOGWARTS ALIVE!"

He couldn't lose her. Not Hannah. It would break him.

She was quiet now, shocked at his outburst, but surprisingly silent, calm—and it was the soundless serenity of her gaze which unnerved him—the glint of steel resolve behind the warm, soft eyes he'd always cherished.

The room was ghostly quiet, reminding him again of the choking atmosphere, as if hands were slowly cutting off his air supply. Four months without daylight…it was no way to live and they both knew it.

He could see her decision—her words— in those warm, honey orbs even before she uttered a syllable.

"Ernie…you can't stop me. I've made up my mind. We can't keep going like this…_I_ can't…life without purpose…it's no life at all…"

And those beautiful brown eyes were looking straight at him, brimming with unshed tears but glowing with newfound hope, imploring, begging...

"I know the chances are slim, but if Hermione really is alive then it might give enough morale to everyone to rally what we have left. Lupin mentioned a mission. They were doing something— her, Harry and Ron— that could have been the key to destroying You-Know-Who."

They stared at each other in silence, each knowing exactly what the other wanted to say. Finally, Hannah spoke again, looking away from him and casting her eyes towards the ground.

"Ernie…I know the dangers of doing this. And I know…" She hesitated and looked up at him, the question in her eyes as clear and the answer in his. But now wasn't the time. There was no place for love in war. "…I-I know that you're trying to protect me, because you're a good friend."

The words sounded rushed, hurried and rasping. A lie. But it would have to do for now. They had lived on lies for the past year. What was one more?

She looked away again. "But I'm going. Even if we run, You-Know-Who will still find us, right? And it's not like there really is any place we can run _to_, is there? So I…"

And again, the pleading eyes, the warmth that he'd always been captivated by. Did he have the heart to dash her hopes, deny her wishes?

"I want to help them find her. Even if I lose my life, it's okay. I want to do this."

"And if you die, what do I do? How can I live?"

The words rushed out before he could stop them, barely louder than a whisper, but her eyes widened as if they'd echoed from the mountains. There was silence again.

After a long pause, Hannah took a step forward and wrapped her arms tightly around him. Neither of them said a word, but it was an understanding, nonetheless. An understanding. A hope. For the future.

It seemed like an infinity before he pulled himself out of her arms. With a reluctant sigh, he muttered. "So…what's their plan?"

And as Hannah began her debriefing, Ernie closed his tired, worried eyes and prayed for the first time in his life that he'd made a decision he wouldn't regret.

_Please God, let our last hope against the Dark Lord be alive. Please…let me live long enough to see blue skies again, with Hannah._

He really hoped that somewhere in the heavens, a God existed.

* * *

_**March 15, 1943**_

If someone had told her a year ago that she would one day stand in front of a mirror, girlishly modelling a dress, while a young Minerva McGonagall and her friends chattered away critiquing said dress, Hermione would have eaten Pixy dung and told them they were crazy.

Yet, here she was, standing in front of a large, overly ornate floor mirror, donning one of the many flowing full-length gowns Minerva's friend, Patricia, had set out for them.

It was the night of Slughorn's party and both had decided to go, although it was more peer pressure than anything that had induced Hermione. She had no inclination to see Tom Riddle, after all.

No doubt the silly git would be plotting sweet revenge by now. Hexing him with the Leglock Hex definitely hadn't been the best idea. He was probably still limping around from the after effects of the spell, and the more he limped, the harsher she could expect the retribution of his counterattack.

Tom had a habit of repaying everything in multiples, after all.

Hermione smiled at the thought. The bloody git was such a sore loser. But it served him right this time. He'd asked for it after all. Literally. And after that display of…licking or kissing, trapping her against a wall, or whatever it was…he definitely deserved it! Not to mention using it to his advantage! Actually having the _nerve_ to ask her to join him while doing _that_!

"What's wrong Hermione? You look angry about something."

Hermione snapped out of her reverie to notice that all three of the girls, Minerva, Patricia and the seventh year Sophia, were staring at her in confusion.

"Do you not like the robe?"

"Oh, no, that's not it at all. It's very nice." She said hurriedly, and turned back to the mirror, examining herself.

It was true. The dress was beautiful, made with a light material of dark green chiffon she'd never seen before, and lined with intricate thread work of silver and gold patterns that seemed to sway and shimmer with her every movement.

"It's a special dress robe my uncle sent to me from Berlin," Sophia told them, as she fingered the sleeves on her own silver robe, which was equally gorgeous with its plunging neckline and layers of silk. "It's got a charm on it to make it shimmer like that. I outgrew it a few years ago, but it looks perfect on you."

"Aren't you glad we forced you up here now?"

Earlier in the day, the three girls had come gallivanting up to Hermione, with Patricia excitedly babbling about Slughorn's parties and asking her about her preparations and dress robes. When Hermione had come up with the excuse of not having a dress, the three had immediately offered to provide her with one.

Now it seemed too late. She couldn't refuse after they'd gone through all this trouble. As the only girls invited from Gryffindor, all three were excited, even the usually reserved Minerva, and Hermione didn't have the heart to break their merry spirits, even if it meant seeing Tom again.

Thoughts of Tom always provoked her confusion.

_We can create our own world where this kind of prejudice doesn't exist. We'll make them see beyond our bloodlines._

She'd be lying to herself if she said those words hadn't been enticing back then, that they weren't still enticing…even now. It hadn't been simply _how_ he'd put those words, with that air of charisma and the subtle commanding undertones; it had been…she didn't know what it was…something in his eyes, his gaze. Those words had sounded so full of conviction, as if he truly believed it.

_We'll force them to acknowledge our power, our strength, our worthiness…_

Was this where they differed? Was Tom trying to take by force what she merely wanted to prove? Hermione sighed.

He was wrong. Forcing people to act a certain way would never cease their own way of thinking. It would only incite violence and rebellion. He was wrong to impose his own will upon others.

But then, why were his words still so unsettling?

With another sigh, Hermione turned back to the mirror. It really was a beautiful dress.

When she'd first tried it on, she couldn't recognize herself. The bushy-haired girl staring back at her had somehow seemed a stranger. She'd changed so much over the last two years of war that she wondered, at times, if pieces of the old Hermione Granger were left at all.

"Alright, Jane, what do you think of this necklace?"

Turning back, Hermione flashed a smile and rejoined the girls.

_Why are his words still unsettling you? _

The question rang heavily in her head like the final tolls of a knell. Hermione vaguely wondered if this was also an aftereffect of the war. The old Hermione Granger wouldn't have been so easily swayed by Tom's words.

The old Hermione Granger.

Member of the Order of Phoenix. Best friend of Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. Enemy of Lord Voldemort. How much of that girl was left? How much of that girl had survived?

Tom-not this Tom- but the future Tom; he would slaughter them. _He_ would be the one who would take everything from her. Could she really change that future?

Was she even capable of trying?

Hermione had always been so sure of herself, so determined and assured that whatever the past, nothing was worth the dreadful future in store for them.

But now, seeing Tom, meeting him and finally understanding him and his motives…she wasn't so sure anymore. What he'd said to her…they hadn't been lies, had they?

Hermione sighed as she turned to look out the window towards the clear blue sky.

_We can create our own world where prejudice doesn't exist._

It was a beautiful dream…wasn't it?

* * *

"There you are, Tom." 

A honeyed, sultry voice sang across the hall and Tom Riddle was snapped out of his wandering musings back into the sharply contrasted, black- and- white world of his pureblood brethren.

Or perhaps not so black- and- white.

Walburga Black stood in the doorway to the Common Room, clothed in the deep, rich hues of blood, waves of unbound curls the colour of midnight outlining the lascivious figure of a Greek goddess.

Tom eyed the girl appreciatively from the stairwell, knowing full well the girl had specially dressed up for him. It was no secret within the Slytherin Common Room that Walburga fancied Tom Riddle.

It was also no secret that Tom had never once accepted her offer, despite his many nightly outings and Walburga's consistent offerings.

Strategy was something Tom had always prided himself upon, and having the heiress of an ancient and powerful Pureblood family at his beck- and- call was always an advantage, in and outside of school.

Of course, such favour always came with a price, and Tom indulged the deluded girl with sweet words and praises to keep her happy. He was no fool and was well aware of the vast influence Walburga had over the female population of Slytherins.

He was also immensely aware of her father's influence over the rest of the Wizarding World.

"Tom, you're always so distant lately." The foolish girl cooed as she slowly descended from the stairwell of the Common Room, making her way slowly down towards him, in what Tom gathered to be her idea of seduction. Baring skin and hands drifting suggestively over an ample display of cleavage. Pathetic.

As if he could be won over by such means.

Nevertheless, Tom let his voice drop an octave, into a low purr as he called "Walburga", turning his eyes to purposely rake over her body in a way that brought a smile to the girl's lips.

He kicked off the stone steps in a smooth, elegant motion and carefully took possession of a richly adorned hand, kissing it chastely in the way he'd found girls giggled over.

"Shall we?"

Playing the role of an elegant, charming gentleman was one of the many facades he'd cultivated over the years. People would always go a long mile after a good first impression. Making his way down the stairs with his date in tow, Tom's thoughts invariably drifted to the only one who could not be won over by his charms.

Would Jane be there tonight?

He half wished she would be. Yet, wouldn't that throw a wrench in his plans?

Tightening his grip on Walburga's hand, Tom pulled her along into the torch lit corridor towards Slughorn's party.

This was the path he had chosen, the path he'd wanted to take since he'd first discovered his powers. Everything he'd achieved until now…it was all at its culmination. All he needed to do was take that final step…take the plunge.

And yet, as Tom walked closer and closer towards that door, towards the door of Slughorn's party, towards the door of destiny…he couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed.

As if he'd missed something along the way.

* * *

"Bloody brilliant!" 

The hall was a wonder to behold, filled to the brim with magical fairy lights dancing across the ceilings of the large chamber to celebrate the arrival of spring. Along the walls, ivy vines had been magically planted to incense the classroom with exotic scents of foreign flowers. Butterflies flew near the walls, flitting from one wall flower to the next.

All in all, Hermione fleetingly thought Slughorn's classroom looked like a magical kingdom stolen from one of her childhood fairytale books. It was a picture of splendour, with the slightest touch of decadence to suit the nightly atmosphere. All around them, students were decked out in their best dress robes, extravagant dress robes adorned by almost all the eye could see.

Hermione knew it was no coincidence. Slughorn's "club" had always consisted of the best and brightest of the Wizarding Society, and that had always meant Purebloods, even in her time.

The thought was like a douse of water, momentarily pulling her away from the bewitching scenery and back into the reality she'd come to dread. _Prejudice. _It was everywhere, so interweaved into even the minutest details. Could she possibly overcome it? Fight and grapple with it her entire life? The bitter aftertaste of the thought lingered even as her mind pushed away the other possibilities.

She was pulled headlong back into the excitement, however, as the music began to play and Minerva dragged her towards the food table where Sophia was in a heated conversation with Patricia. The two looked at excitedly as Hermione and Minerva approached.

"Isn't this great? I heard Gideon Murphy is here!"

"I've always wanted to meet him!"

Hermione smiled and looked around the classroom. It was nice to have friends again and join in on the idle chatter of social interaction. Minerva's presence in the past few weeks had helped sooth away much of the loneliness that had haunted her since she'd first arrived desperate and friendless.

Yet, even as Hermione listened and smiled and tried to join in on conversation, she couldn't help but look for _him_.

As though the heavens had heard her inquiry, the double doors opened to emit Tom Riddle. He looked much as he always did. Absolutely gorgeous. The dark dress robes he wore hugged his figure well, and Hermione could clearly see that she wasn't the only girl whose attention had been caught by his entrance.

As Tom smiled and looked about the room, his eyes fell upon the sight of her and lingered for a while, slightly widening as if caught in surprise. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments before Tom broke eye contact and turned his attention towards…an absolutely gorgeous girl dressed in red.

The girl was like a doll; a perfectly proportioned face with huge, beautiful dark eyes, pert nose and full, lush red lips. Around her, she could see that several boys had their mouths open, hanging in awe and Hermione felt a sudden wave of heat rush to her face as she saw Tom tenderly take the girl's hand and lead her to the dance floor.

She quickly turned, all too aware that she was reacting like a jealous lover and hardly knowing whether to feel angry or embarrassed about her reaction. _Why was she acting like this?_

Hermione quickly poured herself a glass of punch, determined to enjoy herself and put her mind off Tom Riddle. She gulped down the punch and poured herself another, ignoring the slightly burning sensation of the liquid running down her throat.

"You sure you want to drink that much alcohol?"

Annoyed and not really caring who it was, Hermione answered brusquely. "It's not alcohol, it's—" She took a whiff. "Alcohol."

_Hell on earth had she mistaken rum for punch? _

An amused chuckle and a hand lightly touched her shoulder. Hermione twirled around, meeting a pair of sparkling green eyes.

But not his. Instead, a very good looking boy stood in front of her, an amused curl of a smile gracing his features as he looked from the cup in Hermione's hand to her clearly perplexed features.

"Do I know you?"

The boy laughed; a crisp, carefree laugh.

"No, I reckon you don't. But I know you. How do you do, Jane Cacher? Christopher Blake." He held out a hand good naturedly and flashed another dazzling smile that Hermione couldn't help but respond to. This boy was really charming. And handsome.

Just enough distraction to keep her mind off someone else.

"Would you like to dance?" Christopher held out a hand to her which Hermione took gratefully.

"Love to."

Here was someone who didn't plot world domination or attempt to seduce her into submission through underhanded Socratic methods. She would enjoy herself tonight. Without Tom Riddle on her mind.

Ignoring the pointed looks from Minerva, Patricia and Sophia, Hermione took the hand offered to her and allowed herself to be whirled off onto the dance floor, completely oblivious to the dark glower coming from a corner of the room.

* * *

"You look beautiful." 

Hermione flushed red.

"Thank you." She and Christopher had been dancing for the good part of an hour and she was glad to have found a good friend in an unlikely place. Not only was the Ravenclaw boy quick-witted and clever, but he was also extremely knowledgeable in Tranfiguration, Arithmancy, Potions and A History of Magic.

Oh. Did she mention he had read _Hogwarts: A History_ seventeen times? That was only three less than herself.

Hermione sighed happily, as a pixy flew by over their heads and sprinkled sparkles of glitter onto the dancers below. This was one of the rare occasions she'd been wrong. It had turned out to be a good night, after all.

As the pace of the music changed onto the next song, Hermione pulled Christopher off the dance floor and moved towards her friends again as the Ravenclaw went to get refreshments.

The girls were making faces before she even reached them.

"Blake, huh? Didn't think you two knew each other but from the looks of it…"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We just met and I'll have you know he's very intelligent."

Patricia chuckled and exchanged a glance with Sophia, who broke out in giggles. "Right, intelligent. He's also incredibly handsome, Hermione, in case you're blind. _And_ he likes you."

Both girls broke into giggles again, leaving Hermione a bit exasperated. This was why she hated parties. It had been the same way with the Yule Ball and Victor. Deciding to change the subject, she asked,

"Where's Minerva?" Looking around, the dark-haired Gryffindor was nowhere in sight.

"Wherever Riddle is, I reckon."

Hermione snapped her head around. She'd heard wrong.

"What?"

Patricia sighed. "Minerva fancies Tom Riddle. She gets red as a plum whenever she sees him. Been like that for the last three years now. It's like she's in love."

It couldn't be. Minerva. _Professor McGonagall_ fancy Tom Riddle?!? No. Hermione felt as if someone had reached into her chest and snatched away the air in her lungs. She could hardly breathe. Minerva liked Tom. Minerva…

She could barely stutter out a response. Her mind was in chaos, and Hermione hardly knew why. "T-Tom Riddle? But she's never mentioned him."

Sophia nodded matter- of- factly. "I know, I know. She's too shy."

The girl looked over the brim of her glass and gave Hermione a stern look. "You didn't hear it from us."

Hermione could only nod. It was something she would never mention to Minerva. How could she?!

Meanwhile, Patricia was saying, "Although, I do feel sorry for her. Tom's one of the most popular boys in our school. _Every_ girl would love to be _his_ girlfriend."

She looked over across the room and inclined her thumb towards the girl in red. "And compared to Black… well, it's hard to measure up."

The mention of Tom's date caught Hermione's attention again.

"Black?"

"Yeah. Heiress to the House of Black. Her father's got a lot of influence with the Ministry 's school board and all that, which is why she struts around Hogwarts acting like she owns it."

And again, another lump was making its way down Hermione throat, chocking the air out of her. "Then she's his girlfriend?"

"Oh, no. Oddly enough Tom doesn't date. You see him around with a girl or two, sometimes, but he's never gone with them."

"Oh."

The information was barely a relief, however. No matter how she tried to repress it, Hermione could feel the inklings of jealousy rushing through her system. And it had to be jealousy. The feeling…it was that same gnawing and restlessness from when Ron had gone out with Lavender Brown in sixth year.

Both girls must have noticed the look on her face, because Sophia immediately asked,

"Are you feeling alright, Jane?"

"N-No, actually, I-I think I'm going to call it a night. Goodnight girls. Tell Minerva that for me."

Taking the opportunity, Hermione quickly ducked into the crowd before either girl could say anything and headed for the door.

She was barely across the threshold before a hand grabbed her around the waist and another was placed over her mouth, muffling her screams. Kicking with all her might, Hermione thought she heard a grunt of pain from her attacker, as her heel met a knee cap, just before she was thrown against the wall into a dark oblivion.

The _thump thump_ echoes of footsteps and then "lumos!" and Hermione found herself pulled to her feet roughly to stare into a familiar face.

Tom's eyes were flashing red, an instant warning for what was to come, and Hermione could already feel her blood running cold. Riddle wasn't the type to allow revenge to slip by.

"Come to get revenge, have you?" Her whisper was raspy and breathy, hardly her usual confident self, but Hermione knew there was no point in conjuring a façade in front of someone who was so skilled in breaking past them.

"Revenge…" His tone did not match the word, almost as if vengeance hadn't been the reason he'd thrown her headlong into an abandoned corridor. But Hermione knew better. Tom was just playing with her again. Like cat and mouse.

"Yes, I _should_ take my revenge, shouldn't I?" And he was stepping closer towards her again, cornering her like he'd done so many times before, until all she can see and feel is him…until all that's left is him. She can feel her heart beginning to race, her breath begin to hitch; fear and anticipation running through her blood stream.

"How should I take my revenge?" There was a low resonance in his voice, a husky drawl, and despite herself, Hermione felt her spine tingle and shivered involuntarily. Why was she attracted to him? Why couldn't she overcome this attraction?!

Tom's hands roughly taking both her wrists and forcing them above her head brought her sharply out of her reverie and into the situation at hand. She yanked and squirmed, hoping to free herself, only to find his grip tightening.

"Let go."

He scoffed and tightened his grip until Hermione let out a sharp hiss and grimaced. "You're hurting me. Let go!"

Instead, Tom leaned forward, his head resting against the stone wall, whispering just loud enough for her to hear.

"I told you before. I'm not someone to toy with." The words were cold and harsh, a detachment and sterility in his tone that Hermione hadn't heard from him since when she'd first met him. He was _really_, _really_ angry about her hexing him last time, then.

She managed to glare back at him, meeting him eye to eye as she retorted, "You deserved it."

His eyes narrowed dangerously--glinting red --but she didn't notice. "I told you before, Tom, that your paltry tricks won't work on me. I'm not going to be persuaded by your—mmmphh!"

And his lips were on hers. Only it was completely different from before. Where Tom had been soft and…almost gentle, now he was bruising and demanding, as if he was trying to brand her. It was passionate, angry—desperate—and altogether unlike the Tom she knew who was always in control, cool, calm and collected.

He left her no time for breath, capturing her lips in wave after wave of onslaughts; grinding her hard against the wall to steady himself as much as her, all the while keeping a firm grip on her hands, denying her freedom.

He finally pulled away, gasping for breath, and it was only enough time for Hermione to gulp two breaths of air before his lips crushed hers again in another bruising, aching kiss.

Bunching her wrists together with one hand, Tom's other hand roamed her body, stopping at mid-thigh. Hermione let out a squeal of protest when his hand began pulling up the material of her dress by the fistful and his mouth moved on to nibble at her neck.

"What are you doing?! Get off!" She screamed shrilly.

He ignored her, brusquely ripping the fabric when it wouldn't pull any higher. A hand slipped inside the newly made slit of her dress to slide up her inner thigh.

He found her wand, strapped to the edge of her stocking and ripped it out from its holdings, before tossing it carelessly over his shoulders where it landed with a loud _clack,_ somewhere in the darkness.

Tom didn't give Hermione any time to react as he proceeded to rip the silk of her stockings like a greedy boy unwrapping presents on Christmas Day.

Hermione was filled with horror.

"Tom! Stop!" But his hands kept sliding up her thigh, and the harder she struggled, the harder he retaliated, keeping her still and steady with the strength of his body and the vice-like grip on her hands. She couldn't escape.

"Tom!"

He was completely ignoring her, as if in another world where all semblance of control had broken from their reigns. It was frightening, and Hermione found herself on the brink of tears.

The situation completely beyond her control. Try as she might, he was much stronger than her and Hermione had never felt more miniscule or weak in her entire life.

His intention was clear and she was powerless to stop him, as he forced his knee between her legs, insinuating himself between her thighs. "Tom! Please! Please stop!"

He looked up at her, the dispassionate gaze a perfect match to his earlier tone. Cold. Ruthless. And Merciless.

She felt hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked at him through a blurry haze, her entire body shaking uncontrollably and her voice weakly rasping, "Stop. Please, just stop."

He released her, and Hermione collapsed to the ground, shuddering, and hitching for breath; tears still rolling down her cheeks to land on a ripped and tattered dress.

Above her, Tom was breathing heavily, his hands fisted tightly in what seemed a silent resolve before he said softly,

"Don't go near him again. I told you before, Jane. You're mine. Don't go near him." He looked down at her, eyes as cold as steel. "Or I'll kill him."

Somewhere, somehow, Hermione found the will to stand up and race back up the corridor, into the light. A hand caught her wrist as she neared her final few steps and she turned back to see that Tom had caught up to her.

He stared into her eyes for a moment, something flickering in his forest green depths for the briefest of moments.

Quick as lightning, he pulled her into a hug.

"Cacher, I—"

A gasp was heard in the distance and both Hermione and Tom turned around to see Minerva and Walburga standing in the light of the corridor, figures silhouetted by the light, features twisted in shock.

Without thinking, Hermione wrenched herself out of Tom's arms and ran as fast and her legs could carry her.

She wished, now more than anything, that she had a Time Turner.

* * *

**AN: **

Yes, I know. My dark tendencies ran away with me again. Why did I make Tom look like a villain in this chapter? Because he is well on his way of becoming one, lest we forget. With everything, there is always a balance. Within Tom, that balance is disturbed. Voldemort is a socialpath without a conscience for his actions. It's this disregard for morality which makes Voldemort and Tom so dangerous to those around him. We've seen snippets of Voldemort in Tom up until now, but never really the extent of that immorality or the lengths of that ruthlessness. Voldemort is a character who is used to taking by force, a habit he adapted very early on in his childhood. It's second nature to him. Also, he is someone who prizes trophies. To Tom, that is ultimately what it means to "become his". His trophies are the things which, to him, define him as "worthy". At this point, he would definitely see Hermione as a trophy. She is someone who he finds "worthy" of him and he has invested a significant amount of time to acquire her. Like Hufflepuff's Cup or Slytherin's Ring and the extent that Tom went to acquire _those_ items, I think he would also take any length to keep Hermione. When that territory became threatened by someone else, Tom resorted to the only means he knew since childhood, which was to 1)take by force and 2) to mark what is clearly his. Notice how he's infused his soul with the Hogwarts treasures to make Horcruxes. That in itself is a stamp of ownership onto the items themselves. Notice how Voldemort brands his Death Eaters. The Dark Mark is a sign of possession and ownership. Voldemort stamps/brands/marks everything he has because he began with nothing. When someone threatened to take his Hermione, well...his first instinct would naturally be to mark her as his too. That's my insight into his psychology, at last.

**Now, answers/replies to reviews:**

**To:**

**Tom Riddle's Reluctant Bride**: I think this is the second or third time you've suggested this idea. I'm really seriously considering if I should take you up on your offer, lol.

**Hanvu: **oh no! she's bringing out the troll again!!! runs for the hills

**Cdlowe8:** oh gosh, I completely fell off my chair reading your review. I definitely think that Voldemort would be a good poker player. The idea sent me into giggles, nevertheless. And you're right. His practices are often used in politics. It's one of the ties that I wanted to make, and again…you picked it up. :) Now…about that Death Eater…I'm still keeping quiet about him. Maybe you'll find out something next chapter. And what's this? I've stumped you? Oh no! The impossible has happened. The sky is falling! And thank –you for the compliment. Yes, I do consider being compared to Voldemort a compliment, muhahaha. Although, I think I'll have to brush up on my skills since you saw through me so easily…sigh I'll ask Tom for acting lessons…

**Gueneviere: **Those are really thoughtful questions that you've asked and you're right. Tom's desire to prove himself is definitely a weakness. In this sense, Hermione and Tom are similar creatures. They are both driven to prove themselves worthy and they both recognize that aspect of themselves within each other. Now…will Hermione use it to her advantage? That remains to be seen. And yes…lust is a good tool too. Especially when its in a fanfiction. wink wink

**Katheryne: **Don't worry about the grammar mistakes. Those were my own. I'm afraid I have a problem with the past/present when I write, especially in a Time Turner if you're switching time frames. I try to catch myself but there's always some that slip by. Thank you for your thoughtful review and no, I definitely plan on finishing this story, so don't worry.

**The Almighty Cheez It: **thank-you for the suggestion! I will definitely be reading it, although I'm a bit short of time right now as you can tell from my lack of update. But it's going into the "to read" pile!

**Heffy: **Yup. Hermione's definitely taking Tom out of his comfort zone. And it's getting to the point where Tom will soon realize just what that could mean. I wonder how he will react? cue sinister music lol. Thanks again for the nomination and all your support.

**Lisa**: Yes, you're right. My Hermione isn't really rational. It's one of the things I realize I need to work on myself. However, for some reason, Hermione has never _really _struck me as a rational girl to begin with. I think she tries really hard to be one, but really isn't. Like in the sixth book, where she went out with Cormac to get back at Ron. Hermione tends to react on her emotions, and I've tried to portray that aspect of her and how Tom realizes that and doesn't give her time to cover it up, like she tends to do, with rationality.

**Alice**: thank you for the critique. And you're right. I do tend to go into psychology a bit more because I find the brilliance of the mind to be enthralling (as you can tell since I write TR/HG). As for Hermione's love for Tom's beauty, I was taking a feather from book 2 there, when Hermione was smitten head over heels for Lockhart to the point of completely losing rationality and common sense for a crush. She seems like the kind of girl that falls hard for guys, even if it's based on looks. As for the nickname…hehe. It definitely wasn't meant as an endearment. More as something she'd termed him out of annoyance. Kind of like "idiot" or "dummy" as a replacement for a name. Thank you for the critique, though. I'm always looking for ways to sharpen my skills, so this was really helpful!

* * *

As always, please review and tell me what you thought of the chapter. I really look forward to your feedback. 

Love, Selenoliber


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